A crazy poem about the front part of our brains making decisions and us living with them. |
-Frontal Is The Lobe- by Keaton Foster What to do And why How come And when Decisions My fiend Of a friend Make them Shake them Question Said decisions And the Ramifications Ponder what if As you do What comes next Life A cluster fuck Lost in the woods Naked And accused With nothing more Than a spoon Kill or be killed Seems reasonable Identifiable All paths crossed Lead someplace You must decide Where And all That “where” Could and will mean God hides Closed are his eyes He sees nothing And knows even less Sure you could find him But before you look Ask yourself this How come Frontal is the lobe Ideas go there To live and die Thoughts bounce Pinging around Until they beat out All the rest And when they do That become more Then a thought They become an idea Born to reality And like all things Born into creation They must live And they will die There is no saving Anything precious Anything different You must act You must be cunning What to do And why How come And when Decisions My fiend Of a friend Is as true And as real As anything gets Frontal is the lobe At the anterior Of that thick skull Just below Bone and flesh The medulla oblongata Ain’t got shit To damn busy Making things happen Serving its own Self interest Alive Life Living All of it Loosely defined Automatic Are the precursors That will get us From one second To the very last What is done Without thinking Should be deemed Abhorrently pointless I am speaking of ideas Thoughts to ponder Decision to make And ultimately To live with I wanna understand All that I can So all I do is ask You should do the same Turn off those Programmed responses Don’t do it Just because you should Do it because if you don’t You’ll never know Or understand why You should… Frontal Is The Lobe Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2015. |