A Thought Could Make Life You

Shuffle through the book, the books,
The tales of entertainment,
Of history, math, silence.

The mind may be one but small
Or vast, without cohesion.
In either form it travels

From egg into your stomach,
All thought’s hallucinations,
To find an inn in your skull.

Mind’s thus a thing, a substance,
But not, in itself, a life.
Without living, mind evolves,

And ancestors adapted
Through mind’s lines that led to you.