Whittle on a Head

Things do and do not come to me
when I fire a neuron to stimulate more
to make a nice path
for my thoughts to think along.
and I am sometimes on the receiving end
of split ends fizzling out of mind
and out of sight
where I do not look beyond.
I would, 
but I’ve got all these fizzles firing
randomly, in precise directions.
They are so
mathematically trained
to fire, or not, 
to on, or off, 
to 1, or 0, 
to think.
miniscule upon a scale
of things I could no better see
than galaxies twirling all around me.
But in my mind I see them clear
both are here
within me.
I do and do not understand
when ties are built
when bonds are made
around me, between me, within me.
But still I whittle on ahead
making bonds and breaking bonds
until my masterpiece
complete
resides
pristinely
in its bed.
One with its beginning.