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"I think, therefore Iamb," he said, aghast
to find René Descartes upon his throne.
For William, of all straws, this was the last;
and with this man he craved to pick a bone.

"You thinkers all disturb me so," he whines,
"and just like Derrida, I'll tell you, too,
to deconstruct somewhere that no sun shines;
this artist is not dead, no more than you!"

The latter waved to René, and he said,
"Don't fret yourself for Avon's foolish ghost;
he doesn't even realize he's dead."
"Perhaps, but we are more alive than most!

So long as men can think, or eyes can see,
so long lives all your French philosophy."

Iron Noder 2013, 4/30