The Taste of the Color Nine

Lyrics

**Central Image:** The remapping of a shattered brain—patient Zasetsky and the neuropsychological case study as love letter; the act of listening to damage and finding coherence within it.

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[Verse 1]
Your patient's skull held a bullet's truth,
a wound that fractured the grid inside,
yet you sat—pen moving—tracing how
the living brain rewires what it cannot find,
how cortical remapping creeps like dawn
through territories marked as lost.

[Chorus]
You loved him by listening to his scatter,
by watching synaptic plasticity knit
the unmapped regions back to meaning,
by proving the brain is not a monument
but a thousand small resurrections
happening in the dark.

[Verse 2]
You knew the hippocampus holds the thread
that stitches present to remembered—
that long-term potentiation builds
the bridge from what was broken to what's whole.
Each session, you documented how
mirror neurons fire across the gulf,
how intention flows through myelinated paths
even when the map says: *here lies nothing*.

[Chorus]
You loved him by listening to his scatter,
by watching synaptic plasticity knit
the unmapped regions back to meaning,
by proving the brain is not a monument
but a thousand small resurrections
happening in the dark.

[Bridge]
There's no distance between the wounded and the healer—
your neurons fired in rhythm with his,
predictive coding letting you feel
what his hands forgot,
your spindle cells burning with the weight
of witnessing a man rebuild his own syntax.

[Chorus]
You loved him by listening to his scatter,
by watching synaptic plasticity knit
the unmapped regions back to meaning,
by proving the brain is not a monument
but a thousand small resurrections
happening in the dark.

[Outro]
The notebook fills with his voice, your voice—
a map not of loss, but of how
a shattered mind becomes a story
only you had patience enough to read.