They said the dead can't write
And there is no internet in the afterlife
John Lennon's soul once complained to a medium
That the genius songwriter that he was in the yonder
was a goner, having left his guitars, pens, and paper
in the portals of heaven and hell.
Poor James Joyce,
having written in the smithy of his soul
the so-called uncreated conscience of his race,
cannot come back to revise what he wrote
or unwrite what he has writ.
The old man is dead,
mute as the marble on his grave.
So, this is my plan for life,
write, write, write,
A Descartian variation
I write therefore I am,
For there is an "I"
still kicking and alive,
a reason why living is
better than dead.