Ode to the Em-Dash

Once a writer’s tool —

now the sign of fucking bots —

my words look machine-made.

Em dash used to cut

like a monk’s sword in winter —

bots wore out its edge.

Once a poet’s tool —

now a watermark for bots —

I write around you.

Little dash, old friend —

I watch you rot in bot hands —

language dulls again.