Image for the poem Cerveau


The brain plays games
not sudoku but close.
Everything in its place.
Thoughts, fears, thoughts, fears,
add them up and they just become
a way of life.  
Do you hear voices?
I've always assumed every human  
had an inner dialogue, a conscience.
I figure animals do too.  
Imagine nothing, just a blank page in
your head. I can't, and hope  
you can't either.  
The body exhausts before the mind
so in an everlasting town that looks
similar to bismuth from far away.
I watch, like a God, with no control
over anything. The people here  
made themselves, I just pop in and
out of their lives observing them,
stealing their emotions and stories
for my own purposes later.  
Insanity or creativity?
Hand in hand they go.
The frontal cortex lights up with  
excitement and yeah, that's it.  
Author's Note
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