My Robot Sensibilites

I don’t write love poems
Therefore desist with your question so repeated,
I write daytime woozy and nighttime bluesy,
But I can’t write what you desire when my idea of love has been defeated,
Stay, it’s not you who I have problems with,
But my poems slap like a hand in glove,
Or make you cry to the sky up above,
But my dreams of love have been shot down like a dove.
I don’t write love poems.

I won’t write your sappy poems
Girl, I’m just not the man for that questionable task
I write poor man rag time and store clerk bag time,
But I can’t write the things that make my stomach turn, so don’t ask,
Stop, your tears and fears won’t do no good,
My poems are senseless and straight-up laffy,
I write good poems and poems that are crappy,
Though I know you’d be happy, with something so daffy
I won’t write your sappy poems.

I can’t write this hope,
Without wings to scale the height you request,
I write about sadness around this atlas,
My eyes are dim, no peaceful object on which my mind can rest,
Lass, I hold this sensibility to my grave,
Doomed to lie in sleep like a senseless dope,
All that’s bright hides beyond my scope,
Hand me that rope, so I no longer have to grope
I can’t write this hope.

I’ll write a goodbye poem,
Girl, I can do this admirably in my dreaming sleep
I write fine farewells and the softest oh wells,
What you asked is beyond my grasp, but this you can keep
Friend, I call you, take this your final poem.
I hope it propels you after your dream to fly,
And to use the proper time to laugh, to cry,
And when you sigh, think of happier times gone by,
This is a goodbye poem.