the professor

so suave in the way s/he moves

as if each motion was deliberately

choreographed,

making some students in the back

wonder

if when s/he was a student in the back

years & years ago,

that s/he dreamt of one day becoming this

thing,

this emblem of intellect,

whose mind stays in a little box called the

university &

when not taken into the public sphere,

it stays there,

mentally masturbating with the rest of them,

until they all cum in tandem at a conference,

reading papers on specific & meticulously mundane

subjects, which has gained them a seat in line for

tenure,

but in terms of helping the world,

does little but keep the tuition dollars coming in,

because the kids are the ones who line up to meet them,

the kids are the ones who believe in the lethal cocktail

of wit & romantic idealism,

which is great is discovered on one’s own,

but bitter to the taste if spoon-fed by someone whose

latent wish is to get in your pants because you are bedazzled

by the genius that you think they

possess.