The brain dwells in a cranial cave,
prefers few neighbors, most often will pretend
that no one is home; has a chronic
illness, meta-cathexis, a psychic
continuum of disembodied energy
which floats above the particle world,
in layman terminology, desire; exhibits
a joie de loquacity infrequently, partially,
preferring instead the silence common
to creatures of habitual solitude, those
that have fear of the light; is the soul’s
pharmacist, dispensing alternate doses
of adrenalin and gossip, chemical impulses
which cause the pale locomotive of the body
to toss and turn; often sleeps under a quilt
of delusion, a random patchwork of truth
and fiction, a blanket of dreams and wishes;
has been rumored on occasion to speak
in calm low tones of a high far place…”