The Dead

'The Dead!' he proclaims in painted lines
Of twisted narrative and coarse designs
And shoves opinions of reflective glass
Up the world's ubiquitous snobbish ass.

Theories of cyclical historical rounds
And withered morals--recycled--abounds
In ashen hearts picturing sullen rifts
Across accumulated ivory drifts.

The obsession with anguish of the past
Dulls the reader like a drunken repast,
'Til left like malignant melanoma,
The reader, 'dead', in self-induced coma.

This image cherish, and students rejoice,
For thus too, perished, the beloved Joyce.