Descartes had good logical reason
to know that he was not W.A. Mozart
nor, if official documentation was to be trusted,
any other citizen of Vienna
or of the Austro-Hungarian Empire,
nor was he German, Estonian, or
one of those who were reputed to live
in ice houses in l’Amérique du Nord.
He knew, furthermore, that he was not
Blaise Pascal, whom he had seen
just the other night at l’Auberge Notre Dame
gorging on his beloved choucroute garnie.
I imagine I am thinking
he wrote, but crossed it out.
I think I am a gerbil...
I think I am le roi soleil...
How busy he was!
How busy I - Eureka!
Je m’occupe, donc je suis.*
______________
(I am busy, therefore I am.)*



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