a poem for professors

The learned, "liberal" lecturn?
the traditional, regal pew?
the eager, unwashed many?
the snide and cultured few?

"Which one do you listen to?,"
the professors
cooed in cadence dewed
half-begging dissenting point of view,
allowing any rebel that ivory shoe
though oft under stony, scornful tower...
and with time: one or two hatchlings
take wing to in jargon-armour
storm the bower...
and thus learn to soar
or learn to cower

But mostly the notes fell out in rote
(as if held back by chalky moat)
condensing conclusions our last elders drew
in brilliant diction the last poets wrote,
thus homaging outworn and outwordly Jehovian rivers
where colder, meaner rigours
carved out the "modern" psyche's boat...
re-pickling petrified paradigms
to in vague, amber-like obeissance float

But as time's perspective
leaves Edison
to lay laurels on Ginsbergs and Teslas...
and thus in howling gold-lief explication
lays out the game,
and like helicopters or clumsy Titans
by "butterfly effect"
blow-shifts the same,
setting liberal nets
for youths' "degenerate brains"

Thus in sandy seas,
swaddled in smuggled tatters
must half-censored new visionaries
broken and didactic
like phantom Beethovens or Ozymandias' float
(deaf and psyche-cleft,
vengeful and fearful if welcomed)
yet gamely Nashing out symphonic formulas
to stave off
"the eternal foot-man" bearing coat

Thus in coded Kantian war-cries
and erudite, deviant blood...
are in neat new stones
rebellion's courageous new memes outlaid...
to smash great marble paradigms
from cragged, castled lepers' graves