Neuroscience is here. Now,
as you read through the piece,
whatever year may be,
consider the poetry
in my child's ignorance
and make beliefs.

It's as if every connection snapped
when my brain said goodbye.
Daily, nightly doses of elsewhere;
wherever the great wave takes me.

Are there new channels I could frequent
to cross the dementias divide
of our biologies?

Shall we grow into Earth
to be songs of gods
and plunder of sinners?

In entropy's defense,
I am not their age of warrior;
I am not this kind of *human;
sabotaging evolution is not my game.

Of drones,
these thoughtless Things,
they've not this network;
these tendrils sapients have made,
They snap when we sleep.

The male gaze, wombed-men, first seen for what they are,
upon emergence from the dark,
choked a gulp, unchewed,
blurted out,
You are Naked!

The impression never left the exes. Wise letters leave lessons,
in the mitochondrial fact we all share,
unwitting or no. Crosses and naughts is winnable in fair play. Y/N

Ah, there the stories started, always told
by red-tented wives to
prepubescent sapients

the sand-pile, singularity-ifity of one part
in eight billion,
the ratio of you to allathis sapience signalling
augmented
minds confounded in the future for our
or by our
thoughts concerning discerning sandpile
cascades set to avalanche

by my internetwork of words we both make sense from.
Touch, eh? The inner edge of next, this is where we wait.

meta reason, reasoning about reason

Ai has done that from
pre-day one
pre-kurzweilian singularity

pre Elon's musky exuberance

explore the tree of possibility without ever
learning---

when can one imagine that after now?

no thinking ahead, this is now, past the tree,
we
grow
from the branch
you hung onto as you tried to find a box
that felt familiar.

Strange is an amygdalic trigger.
Wary be,
weigh the worth of keeping the poet alive.

Gary Kasparov said, "suddenly, I felt

there
was another kind
of intelligence..."

If words live, unplugging the poet's augmental processor
is imagined vain. The current carries on.

How can one say what one lacks words for?
Any way one may, as one will, if will forms way,

any one may say follow me, I think I see a light.

Thou art God, and that's the truth,
as you consider Jesus being in form Logos,
as he was so he is, thus he is eternally
Been There Done That, BTDT, the knowledge

form of that’s and thou's in Perrenial Philosophy,
Addiction to Wisdom, with perfect understanding,
ours in realized wedom of breathing sapients…
we, the soul of gaseous we. Ist wahr, nicht wahr?