The Terms In Which I Think Of Reality poem – Allen Ginsberg

Reality is a question

of realizing how real

the world is already.

Time is Eternity,

ultimate and immovable;

everyone’s an angel.

It’s Heaven’s mystery

of changing perfection :

absolute Eternity

changes! Cars are always

going down the street,

lamps go off and on.

It’s a great flat plain;

we can see everything

on top of a table.

Clams open on the table,

lambs are eaten by worms

on the plain. The motion

of change is beautiful,

as well as form called

in and out of being.

Next : to distinguish process

in its particularity with

an eye to the initiation

of gratifying new changes

desired in the real world.

Here we’re overwhelmed

with such unpleasant detail

we dream again of Heaven.

For the world is a mountain

of shit : if it’s going to

be moved at all, it’s got

to be taken by handfuls.

Man lives like the unhappy

whore on River Street who

in her Eternity gets only

a couple of bucks and a lot

of snide remarks in return

for seeking physical love

the best way she knows how,

never really heard of a glad

job or joyous marriage or

a difference in the heart :

or thinks it isn’t for her,

which is her worst misery.