We are the versions of the self.

We describe it as trying to be
Or say we simply are

We pass one another on trains
Breathe in the other's skin cells

We know the condition of brotherhood
And that of a stranger

We are ignorant of motherhood--
What man is a mother?

We still go to war, with our history recorded
We know the unintelligent condition
We know the intelligent condition

We trash solipsism
Tell me any other story

So she read her book, the living page
She knows what's a gift,
Senseless rage

Dancing in theatres
That certain way

We borrow from stars in the furthest reaches,
It will never matter

Fluff up the product.