A Disassembled Dialectic
(From The Triumph of Strife: an homage to Dante Alighieri and Percy Shelley)

The mawkish milquetoast mavens mildly moan
And mumble mealy mouthfuls of their mush
Mellifluously masking grammar’s groan

As if our very words they wish to crush.
Beneath a fog dispensed to hide the stink
Of language that would make Rasputin blush,

They make it near impossible to think,
But praise with faint damnation published loud.
In weakly written, waffling wretch-stained ink,

They preach their penchant for pedantry proud.
Their panchromatic paradigm of gray
Describes in blended black and white the cloud.

The metaphysics of the middle they
Debate with dialectical dismay.

They start assuming what they wish to know
These salesmen of the syllogism flawed
Then postulate the hope it may be so

Whatever frozen fact they have unthawed
They legislate a logic lunatic
Inductive inference they have outlawed

Whatever both implausible and thick
They fantasize as fabric for their fraud
And then segué to sell the simply sick:

Suggestions subtle as a cattle prod
Designed to stir stampede instead of thought
They bask in their own bombast overawed

With what their obloquy has sold and bought
They premised nothing and concluded naught

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright 2006-2010