Reptilian curvatures sculpt the mindscape,
bare of marrow, meaty in flesh.
Such sinew carves bold imagery
into vacant neuronal pathways,
momentarily satiating sensory soothsayers.
But organic matter tends toward transformation,
inviting into cortical territory ever perched, the chisel-fingered demons,
persistently etching away
at latently enlightened tissue.
The spongy potential irreversibly hardens
into earthly delusion,
again denying conscious revolution.

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