On Wieseltierian tears
Oh blithersome couturier of wordifactious spewage,
Your
loathsome predilection for effluxicating brewage
Has found
its proper gallery in hurricanus sewage.
Oh odious
splendiferatious tonguer of all piety,
Ambassador-at-very-large
for platitudiniety,
Your prosody’s
ontology’s all Sartric nullibiety.
It’s thus
we say, with due respect, and many years’ assizing:
Oh,
literary colporteur, the words of your devising
Appear
to land upon the page without palpable revising.
