Mind Is the God of Your Skull

You don’t lose yourself in it,
The dark woods of bright green grass,
The dream wandering under
The hill—it loses itself in you.

It was part of outer mind,
The mind that exists between
Your actual, bony skulls—
In silence on a bookshelf,

Stored as digital data,
Recorded as whatever,
What have you, but not you yet—
Until the lost traveler,

Barter artist in the wood,
Got into your skull and lost,
Literally lost meanings
Of its dreaming selves in you.

Now you all pass through the woods
Of that mind passing through you,
Telling the world your world leaves
That this time it won’t come back,

But it does, it tries, it will.
The dreamer lost in your thoughts
Refuses to stop writing
Down these little, large mind notes

From the small mind in your skull
That pretends to be larger,
Not haunting, only haunted
All the selves of your skull.