I don't have a poem for you today.
My cookie cutter has broke
I'm out of dough.

I don't dream anymore.
Maybe it's all the music
Sounding the same without any soul
No real shivers without evil.
No real tears without blood.
No real medicine without conspiracy.

Just the broken women
United under misery into a march
On a tea party hare.
Blame somebody else.

The typewriter is stuck
The printer has jammed
The Internet was dead
My hands shake and deny poetry.
Not today.