If the illusion is only temporary
Then what is the legacy to reality?
Reality just is what is
And what is not
Is the void we all expect
To fill us.
What we expect to feel us
Are warm hands.
In the end they are warm hands,
But they grope more than anything else.
More than anything else
People just remember what they want to be,
And then remember accordingly.
Accordingly we have different perspectives
Despite one mentality.
Despite mentality,
It is instinct we possess more than anything else.
Despite civilization
Animals still shit on street corners.
Shitting on street corners is called socializing,
But we cannot euphemize the filth away.
The filth awayed is what we call clean.
What we call clean is the woman not diagnosed
And still willing to fuck.
And on hard concrete the bruises become romantic,
And the abstract is abused,
Despite the universality they see no spine,
And they need their poems to hold them up,
Even if only temporarily.