About BS I saw at a conference... a poem.

Conference

The ruffle of suede and faux fur

being hung up diminishes in

the echo of eager voices

awaiting the recital and reveal

of the salutations

The plain podium rattles with cascades

of coffee stained papers

the ruffle stops, the silence forebodes

the mechanical mouth of the ancient

orator that opens with a cough

the speech is chewed vigorously

professors count the letters as scribes

with ink saturated palms smearing images

on ledgers made of dust and slate

they talk to themselves and describe the

faulty bridges, verses and lack of philosophy

as they all go over the transom as wonderful

wisps of waxing and waning bewilderment 

building tension and stress as the seated audience

feel their backs bend and crack and soon

they will seize

The orator slips on his embroider jacket made of dog hair

linen and lion’s regret, it falls and fits

A quietude resumes, the words

are counted, spoken, and placed

Under shoe and step

To be ground down into paste to fill

the wrinkles on their faces

and in a casket of ancient resolve

the feast of language is consumed

with soft sensitive dentures and

ready bent forks

The ruffle of suede and faux fur

is furious as the flight from the

benediction is swift out into the winter gates

No longer do the pundits read

from the stained pages that fell

the rattle of wooden shoes stomp off

and diminish with distance.