Some More Bad Poetry

Both because I still have a head cold and the alternative posts would all be about the odd colors that appear to now exist inside my nose and because I wrote earlier about women in academia. So here is the Professor's Prayer:


In the hallowed halls
the chalkdust sleeps.
Old bones dance in bounds and leaps.
The light has died
but the power keeps.

Ach mein Vater, hold me tight,
brand my forehead with thy sign.
Symbols whisper Latin stories,
algorithms and allegories.
Computers and rats in cages,
pages upon untouched pages.
Let them think that I am right.
Let my circles meet thy line.

Knowledge is a cruel fetus
sucking, sucking air.
Fed on academic blood that soaks
through the academic cloaks
that hang suspended.
Yet logic rules though mended.
No Alma Mater dare
to enter there.