Teacher

Plato's got nothin on you, Sir

you with such need to be seen

waving from a paper tower

and that only,

so you can look away

they bathe in your feet

these star struck pupils

while you spin Emerson

and Whitman in chambers

that echo like your soul

up to the gods you call

saying, send down the light!

and this for your gather and dispense

for the plebeians, they must be fed!

and bite they do, these fish

all pooled, while taking care

not to notice the line

while swallowing the bait

you who scratch wisdom's beard

and confer with the mighty oak

while teaching rivers which

way to swim-

are full of shit

from up on high

you bang your fist

and bellow, clarity!

clarity! and more clarity!

to your subjects

but the darkness runs deep

and the webs, they do spread

when night comes to call

in the hollow of the day

and the voices you hear

the ones you reject

speak a truth

in shades just between

creation and reality

now i watch the parade

and you in your coach

while obeisance is slathered

from those on the stringer

and i say in a whisper

with a sad knowing smile

the emperor
has no clothes