A Yuletide Apocalypse

My brain floats behind my eyes,
a storm of sparks
thrown from woven currents—
A writhing mass of computational fury.
An enigma; yet just as bound
by the laws of the flesh;
We only fool ourselves to think it escapes
this physical reality.

The observer sees my particular set
of actions, reactions, expressions;
This is all that defines me.
There is no abstract
I
floating somewhere in grey static space.
I
am merely a fragile pattern,
set amidst the chronologic noise
of human existence.