They are much misunderstood.
Like that old writer's truism:
“Write what you know”—well,
you don't know very much.
So you write about raisins.
Faithless little f**-ups,
plucked, dried, smashed in a box.
That feeling of being in the world,
but not of the world. So what
if berries fall from the hand
as only berries do.