Professors prefer those ivory towers
safe amoung the wispy muses deified;
disdaining the music of the mops, hammers and ploughs
that shoulder Penelope’s inky web.
Crowing back and forth, pecking at lines
with a carrion’s care to consumption;
from gated aviaries to coffee house cliques
enjoying the psychoactive stratosphere.
Courting inky jihads with avaunt-garde pith
philosophizing infatuated lumps of clay;
publishing pundits full of words
popping dreams of peer reviewed glory.