Philosophy, that schoolbook for princes,
Staggers down the steps
Drunk on citation and celibacy.
Preferred play-date of maidens,
Sips the sighs of fresh Love in the corner,
Pushing wine and dine on Reason.
Philosophy quaffs a stiff one
Before looking for a victim, a student;
It insults Kindness, sloshes gin on Grace,
Introduces Antithesis to Fun.
Even stooping to tell The Truth:
You're a fool! You're a fool!
And you. You're the worst of all!
Who, me? says Poetry, dropping a joint
On the floor, birds tumbling from sleeves.
A pretty blaze mauls the carpet.
Philosophy hacks on a bloom of skylarks
That form broken mirrors from ribboned wings.
Stop! I can't see…can't…breathe, it wheezes.
Who, me? cheeps Poetry.
Nathan Woods, editor/overlord