Torches ’round the hermitage
Snot-nosed and half-raised, ill-bred but well-read,
the theorists contempt their every endeavor
with monstrous languages cobbled from the dead.
The theorists work how dervishes in deserts do:
bother and drift—parry, smear—holler and rue.
How elated are the pedants to have their names!
To sleep with letters (promiscuous corpses them)
is to rise with the duped and doubly damned
if first they don’t bury the last of the bookmen,
says the mob whose victims adore it—