And one more of these.
"On Consciousness."
Easy actions of the mind not subject to reality.
Among the luxuries a safe life affords, imagining the worst.
The evidence spectral, admitted before the mind's tribunal.
On either side of the corpus callosum,
a separate awareness, idea as chemical action
in the brain, the self erased, the rational having
set a place for transcendence, love igniting that place
in the caudate nucleus.
Inside one's body, an absence documented,
a portion of the future measured in the mind containing
an arrival, the simultaneous search for pain and its relief
as though one could resist the tug of the mind's idle energy.
Blown neurons, fragments of death.
You feel as though you play the role of nothing,
that you fail to show up for your own life.
The idea of a room opening up inside one's body
when we think we know.
Do we alter reality?
The brain's economy-- one object, one neuron,
the mind made of words.
All that matters most surpassing reason
at the margin of the already known, where discovery happens,
that ideas detonate in slow motion.
"On consciousness."