Give This Tiny Ganglion Its Worth

one more spin around that ganglion.
the universe yawns;
yearns for no more
no less than before.
ganglion to us alone.
outside this spiral,
hardly a home. sol,
but a sun: one
of many, of which
many are to some
just as important
as if they were anon.

the blood rushes.
tendons like cables
arc along bone;
find home in tips
of nerves and skin.
held within fibers
and coiled helix in
some memory of fire
and early beginning.
hot from the brain
and sent to move:
moving haps, a digit
types a digit. same
as prior returns
message to rest.

ere long, response
to this world's prodding-
nodding sleepy still
from dream-less sleep
of yester-year - murmured
sound of appeal, unbidden
'why'; shocked reveal.
a look at stars, the sky
they fill.  some stuff
of larger breadth than I.
prompts the wonder,
bids reply.

not forthcoming
yet not withheld.
absent instead
in stead not held,
but steadfastly absent
requiring consent
to the strange origin
from whence all things
come at once, 
and go to hence.

all of this exists within
the head of a spring-
driven pin. sent down
the motherboard below
wires whirring motors so, 
so as to make before my eyes
appear the words
which I surmise;
and all in yawning
moment lost to blinking
eyes, at little cost.
what lack these words
would not produce
if I'd not thought
to bring them forth.
what greater being
might I induce
to give this tiny
ganglion its worth.