What is a fool?.
I am a fool.
Can a fool recognize himself,
Or must others always point it out?
Does the realization come suddenly
Like an explosion in a tomato factory
Covering him with malodorous red rottenness? Does it creep on like algae in a stagnant pond? Can a fool feel?
Can a fool fool?
How long does a fool live?
For himself? For others?
How do you discard a fool,
Rid yourself of the malignant little bother?
A little enticement and he lingers by,
Like the unpleasant smell of old English Leather Too copiously applied.
He’ll die of dehydration—
Millions of silent tears—
How do you know a fool?
Ask one.
Ask me. I know.
I am a fool.

Jon Jacobs

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