Home for Dead Writers

Reality fades to flat-screen thin—
dims pale as moonlight coaxing the color from things.
Beaten with megabyte whips,
kilobyte attention spans whimper in the pixels.
Cracker Oscars and a token dwarf become the new PC.

Comic book blockbusters gobble up nerds—
CGI goo for the easily amused.
It’s no use writing Gatsby, only the dead sell lit.
(Is it still fame if you never know?)
What you leave, you’ve left.  What you take won’t go.
So pour yourself an atmosphere.
If it’s sweet give it cherries, olives if it’s dry.
When you’ve stirred things up
the way you want them, enter in!
It’s good to create!
It’s good to be king.