When You Think Of Me Poem by Seamus O' Brian

what do you think of me
what projections of neural
pre-cognition, cognition,
re-cognition are driven
to the limbic system
of your mind, where disgust
or happiness or fear is birthed?
I sleep there in some neural net
of memory, I know, yet when I live again,
what do you feel? Am I a cut
on your finger, a demon in your
shadows, or—worse by far—am I
one of a thousand smeared handbills
fluttering their edges from an
alley in your mind? Am I anything
more to you than a wrinkle
in the backdrop of your living?
The silence of my unasked
question is a void much smaller
and so much safer than
the possibility of your
answer.