Like a sham election in a calcified dictatorship —
The people’s candidate has won an unprecedented thirty-second term! —
literature’s greatest writers each year are canonized, anthologized, solemnized,
and for the majority of undergraduates who come from families with sufficient means,
Graduates wishing to spend more of their parents’ money,
or who don’t mind working for pennies,
or just want to avoid having to begin a career in a mindless profession,
can choose to enter the rooms where the sham election’s ballots are tabulated.
Some advance so far as to believe the votes they cast
can actually determine the election’s outcome
not realizing until they have submitted their ballot
that the selection is merely among clones.
THE GREAT WRITERS shuffle along the halls of academia,
the corpses of their copious corpora animated in required readings,
essay assignments, dissertations, books from the university press,
and collected editions, both printed and online.
I respect the accomplishment of my prodigious literary ancestors
but have lost my desire to join in the worship of their zombie lives.