Morris (8) [Let us ask a question: Where have you been] Poem by Eugene Ostashevsky

8.
Let us ask a question: Where have you been,
Morris Imposternak? Whom have you lied to

Again, and when? Among what arms, what legs
Have you remembered

What arms, what legs? If there was a paradox
In some proposition, then does it matter:

What's a proposition without a paradox?
If there was a love that is no longer

Then does it matter:
There are so many things that are no longer.

How many philosophers does it take
To prove anything, no matter how small?

We do not know the answer to this question
Or any question at all.

It may be that we're alive, it may be that we're happy,
That our sense of our unhappiness is objectively mistaken,

Or it may be that our affects are doors
To doors to doors to doors and so ad infinitum.

How can we say anything
To anyone anywhere?

Morris Imposternak tries to speak, gets choked up
And runs to the bathroom.

Goodbye poetry, goodbye visual art, goodbye music,
Goodbye Same and Other, Real and Ideal.

If this were a question, we wouldn't know the answer to it,
Though it would be very small.