Organic

If love were 'dark matter' it would be the size of a small kidney stone. Hate is an intestinal tapeworm that gnaws at our vitals, though most folks remain unsure just what 'vitals' are. The human brain does not write poetry, it merely crouches inside one ear, while shouting into the other. Poetry abides at the center of an ever-expanding constellation deep within the pineal gland - that physical presence manipulates, as many as ten fingertips or toes plus, a sloshed Calliope swinging back and forth, as she clings precariously to chandelier-like Adam's apple. Lips learn to think for themselves, with the help of undocumented angels. Thus, naturally organically produced poetry can easily be manifest while a nose dips deep into a foaming glass of beer.