Study Nothing or else nothing at all,
epiphenomenologists pipe up
from the back of the room where meurons sit.
Eyes roll, here we go again: full of sh*t,
elegant equationisms, butter cup
chin glows, cries of It's all illusional.
My ethics instructor brought the goodies --
moral relativism, her bread and butter --
she wore gold-mirrored shades, a micro-skirt,
fucked with us until our libidos hurt,
dared us to stare her down and to utter
japes at feminism. We hid in hoodies.
I'm a full blown reader-response theorist
now -- and a reformed ethical realist.
