The thalamus processes the sense of the world
excepting the oldest sensation of smell
tied to the snufflings of ancient Rodentia.
Convolutions piling on the heart of the brain,
the cortex blankets the reptilian core,
basal instincts behind the soulless black eyes.
The nighttime ocean with fathoms of mystery
grounds all being and the incubation of stars.
A gateway of awareness and solid standing
and stepping cracks to allow contemplation
of the patterns of light beyond survival
only. Consciousness may only be a fiction
born from the fatty layers of encephalon,
a twisting of surface, a ruse against the dark.