The mind’s a wilderness of witnesses.
We’d like to think they come to guard,
forewarn, protect, exert what internecine
subtle nudges they can breed in us
through neurotransmitters and hormones –
or via other strange synaptic thrashings
prod a range of bright obliquely useful
dreams – but I have come to think
it seems they’re merely here to see.
Why they have an interest is beyond me.
Perhaps, for them, it’s fun. Every time
I shut my eyes I see another one.
.
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