Eugene Ostashevsky
Enter Morris Imposternak, Pursued by Ironies (Poem 2 of 12)


When Morris Imposternak throws his round shield

Down during, say, the battle of Phillipi or something


Who knows what poems, what true propositions

Will rise out of the sticky, fragrant loam?


If he were a monist philosopher,

His principle would monism,


But it’s hard to believe your own thoughts

And phenomena can be so distracting…


And books can be so disheartening…

And anything can be just so anything:


Thus Russell developed his theory of types to get rid of the Village Barber


But who cares about the theory of types?  What’s really interesting is the

Village Barber Paradox!


Or take the phenomenon of love:

He felt such tenderness toward you,


That writing "tenderness" I sigh

"Alas, poor Morris!"


Yet, since no one from the scientific community has ever explained love

 to everyone’s satisfaction

Scientists fall in love or do not fall in love


Without any of them really knowing when they are in love or not,

Whether they are in love or not.


This is true.  It is also true

That where there’s tenderness, there’s suffering:


Hence when we say that an elbow is tender,

It means we have a booboo,


And money, announcing itself as "legal tender,"

Causes suffering, but in such a way as to absolve the beneficiary thereof

 from responsibility therefor.


Look at the sea!  Don’t you think that the sea too suffers

When it pulls up its skirt at low tide


And shows the varicose veins, the ingrown hairs, the splotches

Along its cold, pale, swollen, hypertensive leg


It is possible that ideas don’t suffer —

Such as the idea of suffering, for instance, —


But we are not ideas, are we

Morris Imposternak, at least, is not an idea.

Found In Volume 36, No. 02
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Eugene Ostashevsky
About the Author

Eugene Ostashevsky is the author of Iterature and Infinite Recursor or The Bride ofDJ Spinoza, both from Ugly Duckling Presse.