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 be emergent fiction
Born from the fatty layers of encephalon,
A twisting of surface—a ruse against the dark .

The cradling womb beseeches in ev’ry eyeblink
A return to the origin of the expanse,
The intersection of the bicameral mind .

Here lies the seed that flowered into consciousness
From a singularity of oblivion .
The probability of particles dancing
Meaningfully on the wrinkles of the aether
Approaches null at the limits of darkness—
The thalamus weaves a tale as we fall asleep .

*[ WSB ]_.