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
