Immanuel Kant
Love is dying to death
and living to life;
racing sailboats in a
calm wind, but where
are the whitecaps coming
from? A Tsunami? Or is it
a mirage? Like the philosophy
Immanuel foisted on an
unsuspecting world, trying to
correlate faith and reason,
but undermining both. Why?
Because the categorical imperative
is like a zebra deciding to
get stripes, or a mouse
with a tatoo, in a snowstorm
about to be trampled by a
Polar Bear, only you know
that really the page is
completely blank, and the
artist is just being a
smart ass with the title.
Every philosophical system
is part crack smoke, and
part sleight-of-hand, mixed in
with nuns fornicating in honor of
virginity, and Jimmy Page
chastely manipulating his violin
bow before the theramin.