Die Sophists Die

I think the original poem here had a really faulty premise, which in some cheap sense is appropriate for a poem about sophists, but ultimately I opted to roll up that lousy poem and smoke it. This is what I saw in the smoke.

~

DIE SOPHISTS DIE

It's beyond chivalry for these stakes -
no gentleman's game to be babbled about,
nothing with rapiers or cravats or
camels or blonde hair,

my hair is brown as the night,
and my cares are nocturnal as well.
My nose and judgement are sharp
and I'm ready to drop you,

without a blink, to
the oblivious confusion of the
wrong happy ending.
You would be me in the fanfare of

our ever, ever so innocent culture.
You deserve to have it;
that's what it takes so long for us to accept,
that there is no privileged ground

upon which authority can stand,
nor upon which the true authority
can stand the vile stench of
deceit.