Tokamak

It’s a wonderful world of mirrors, the mind,
But the mirrors aren’t what makes it wonderful.

It’s all the smuggled light between the mirrors
Makes everything happen, makes everything mad.

That’s ridiculous, you snort, light’s everywhere.
It’s only magical trapped in the funhouse.

Alright, you’re not wrong. You have a point. Mirrors
Are rarer than light and hard work to set up,

But mirrors are only responses to light,
And the mind amid wondrous bedazzlements

Came to be to catch the waves and play with them
In its own waves of tourists, silver, and glass.

The mind keeps waves going around and around,
Making visitors laugh hysterically,

Letting them get all kinds of crazy ideas
About waves and mind and the fire in the light.