This was a fabulous reception, though it was all foreign to me.nIt was a little less offensive than I thought that it would be.nAnd the platitudes and drinks just kept on coming, unrelieved.nAnd their tones conveyed affection with a tinge of rivalry.nnAnd the tenured tilt toward you, they make motions with their glass.nLike they're hundred year old parrots blurting curses from the past.nAnd their anecdotes and witticisms coated by the heatnin the slow sway of its shimmering viscosity, they readnnPublish or perish, it's up to you.nnIn the corridors of power, through the Groves of Academenthere's a labyrinth of fingers scrabbling above the weeds.nAnd a whole English department is united by these things,na shared hatred of literature and other faculties.nnPublish or perish, it's up to you.nnFrom the manicured lawns,nthrough the sound proof highway walls, they can't seenthe slink of river lightnand the torn scraps of cloud that sing to me.nnPublish or perish, it's up to you.