To: the virgin Sophist

Sophist! The intellectual of our age
How wise, how eloquent the polished sage;
Wafting his putrid verminesqe vomit
Vilifying the victor clothed in a comet;
Let this meteor penetrate your feckless sonnet:
Your pack is discovered, your plot is uncovered
Your mind is a warping distortion of blubber
The words of the sage, oh valiant knight!
The shepherded shepherd calls blindness his sight
The great he calls small, the weak he calls strong
To him he is mighty! the right he calls wrong
He opens the paper and calls it the truth
He listens to liars and says “how uncouth”
He hides behind Rome and thinks himself king
He trembles at vermin, and can’t say a thing
Oh reverent sage! Impart to us knowledge:
Those verses of traitors that taught you in college