Lepidopteran Cerebrations

Blog post # 189:
(189 = 3*3*3*7.)

I know I posted something on my blog just yesterday. But today I wanted to publish a short post with a theme.

Butterfly Brain

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Anagram:

As our butterfly's brain;
=
it but frays unreal orbs.

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Poem, written today.
(Do you sense a pattern?)

Brain Of The Butterfly
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The brain of the butterfly,
oh, is it iridescent?
Does it too ascend and
form its colors from
Clockwise crescendos?
Does this, the insect's blob of
Neurological spectacle,
become its own imaginings?

Does it glisten and glow and
exceed its obviousness?
Oh, is it also of all and
every zenith, as are these
Wings inside its proximity,
inside its approximations?

Yes, in such dissimilarity and
symmetry -- this brain
Composing that translucent bug
-- its amnesia is of
Glass, and its summations
are of its magic.
Yes, in the ebbing of the
butterfly's thoughts, it does
Conjure and weave our
crystalline but lonely mathematics.

And that mind was
metamorphic and was
Once asleep in an unsustained
but threatening cocoon.
Yet the butterfly has waken,
and maybe is not now more
Than its flight or its dreams.
Perhaps the butterfly is
Only existent, it is only
drawn unjustly, as
Consciousness' aesthetics
might always be. Or maybe
It is to ponder its wonder
and its wandering; maybe it is
To think not of colorlessness,
nor of hallucinations, nor
Of visions each of such a spirit,
each of such a biology,
Each of such contemplation
regarding madness, regarding
Mentality, regarding the
butterfly's love and
Limbic geometry, regarding
its psychoses and confusion
And genius created,
but thus repressed,
But thus demeaned in its
disembodiment,
in its aptitude.

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Leroy