Go ahead
and ask me the hard questions:
Is my mind a mirror
in which consciousness
admires itself?
Is consciousness the bright glass
in which my brain preens and poses
and imagines itself unique?
Am I, perhaps, nothing more than a heap of cells,
some with human DNA,
many without,
who conjure the illusion
of a viewpoint?
Where does the I go
when I go to sleep?
Do I possess consciousness
or participate in it?
And when my scintillating neurons
become earth,
will I go anywhere
or everywhere?