Imagine being called the Shakespeare of Westland Row
or the best lens grinder among philosophers
and the best philosopher among lens grinders—
and yet having to keep a straight face,
though neither Oscar nor Baruch, I suspect,
would particularly mind,
and despite the slight incongruity of the premise,
neither would I, if I could be even just a slut
without a proviso.

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More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com