Seinfeld Sonnet

Two days without a serviceable poem. I think it is crunch time again. My brain appears to be out on loan. This is no way to gain poetic fame! What will the subject be? Hatred of war, or some deep down personal hidden fear? Maybe a philosophical riff, far from the everyday world? Maybe the year so far, as I see it, with trenchant wit, yeah, dream on, your wit is in very short supply nowadays. Would you know it if it bit you? Faking it will mean court for false advertising. You're the Seinfeld of poets. Sonnets made from nothing, your field!