Maybe my brain is made
Mostly by evolution
A silver spirit hung

The lovely ghost in the machine
Like the way I feel about
The future, the spiritual
Mystical connection with all

Living things, its patient
And not yet downloadable
Though I know it’s made

For wonderful things yet
And has permission to roam
In pure wonder, peaceful grounds
Where politics does not interfere

It’s private at least, in part
Maybe my brain is not made
Of light or pure music

But I perceive in my time
Enough beauty and truth to
Recognize my brain as a mirror
Soft and warm, like an embrace

In the design of snowflakes
And in the poverty of the worlds
Existence always feel fresh

With the improbabilities of tomorrow
So many algorithms, frames
Of reference, crucial variables;
My brain eats big data for breakfast

And loves the galaxy like
An ancient connoisseur.

3 thoughts on “Intelligence

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