What used to be illusory
Is measured now in real mists
Of neurochemicals

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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