I post a tribute to the left hemisphere, where scientists dwell, in well-equipped labs;
I drop a line of poetry to the right hemisphere, where insanity dwells in mangled syntax.
I present an offering of the first born and unblemished
At the altar at the corpus callosum.
Is God there, in the desert of my nomadic thoughts,
A cooling cloud by day and flame by night?
Does he redeem the ancient, the present, and the ever so advanced future?
Or is He Marx’s Opium, a song sung by The Grateful Dead?
I only know, like the song of the ancient slave ship master,
I was lost, and now I’m found.