Chris Wayan, April 1983
Dedicated to other involuntary psychics
in a world that denies our existence.
I see this you, the who-you-are.|
Subtle as Star.
Arches of light, your hands reach out--
But inside, something blank--
No fusion at the core!
The Apples of the Sun are gold
I worm down your dark eyes
Iron or soot--
I lay all bare
Neutrino eyes. Neutrino eyes!
I curse the god who gave me
Worms for eyes.
I maggot-gnaw, mar sun on sun
I'd gladly leave your cyanide seeds
Thirty years later, I don't curse my creator any more. But ESP is a hard card to be dealt. Just to spell it out: some eyes see past the skin, the way neutrinos pass through suns. Neutrino eyes see secrets others miss. Embarrassment's common and romance is hard. I find nonpsychics exhausting but I feel I have to look--look for another like me. It's probably good we're rare. But we're here. Not necessarily out of choice, but we're here.
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