Angels Shit

She smells of angel shit
[no one mentions it]/ I’ll
start my MK1 Bayesian
Probability Machine & it
may warm me under my
Markov blanket – such a
confusion of thought & I
will scrub at it [all]/ Free
energy is that difference
in a place we anticipated
& this place our eyes tell
us we are in – feeling out
for less shocks with less
free energy – I think [or I’ll
think not] & offer my last
words on these problems
[it ain’t for rhymed poetry]
as Friston wraps himself
[such minds get worn out
& seek sleep to so dream]