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Page 84

Telepathy, considered by many impossible,
or, at best, a giggly parlor game
with an eerie edge -- telepathy is not
too hard for us; it's too easy -- each mind
pixilated with images, words, feelings, circuiting
melodies, numbers, smells, ear-ringing, hungers,
pains... -- how to tell what comes from where
or whom?

If we were swamped always with everyone,
we would learn to turn off the noise,
to fine-tune ourselves, like radios,
to what we could live with, become
oblivious to all the other static and melodrama
passing through us.

Schizophrenia may be weak or wandering tuning;
poets do that too, perhaps on purpose.

If we could accept all that noise
passing through us (if we knew ourselves
well enough to trust that we could not lose
ourselves in too many voices), we could
silence them all (like a good mother, shushing
her children), create blanknesses,

and in the resultant clarity, receive (and know
we were receiving) wordlessly from one another
poetry or any chosen thing.

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