The brain is a field of minds,
but only one knows how to talk.
(Until you smoke DMT)
Then
You realise that the ability to point at things
with your tiny mouth-sounds
is overrated.

The field of minds knows more
than me. Sees more and feels
more than me.
I know eleven colours,
maybe twelve if I try.
I can hear thirteen notes
(including B double-flat)
And I feel all sorts of tingling
in my skin and blood and belly.

What do they see?
What do they feel?
What do they know?
These extra minds...

I bet they're just screaming at me.
Every trip and tumble and
**** up
that I make,
I bet they know
A way out
of
that mess.
But they don't talk.
They just watch.
"How'd we end up tied to this
*******?"
Omniscient minds. Wasted.
Frustrated. Enlightened.
"Doesn't this ****** know
how easy it is to live?"

When your mind doesn't talk.