What used to be illusory
Is measured now in real mists
Nothing neural is chimerical
The “Mind” is nothing, while the Brain
Is nothing if not realist
Assaying with a fine-tuned spine
Its parts per million of pain
(And skeptical of love or poem
Until precise receptors hum)
It turns out Marx was right, a hymn’s
A little hit of heroin
The Lord, the Lord is IV morphine
The Devil is in the endorphins
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