Walk Without Eyes

Walk without eyes

through a crowd,

no body,

no mind.

I hear and smell

the crowd moving past.

Whisp of pushed air

I can tell.

I explore every sound,

every scent,

Curiosity abounds.

Same crowd, same place,

same time.

Walk back through,

Now with vision

to join my ears and nose.

Suddenly, smell less.

Hear less.

Vision distracts and

fills the hypothalamus.

Triggered—flight, fight.

The brain is scrambling

with all its might.

Afraid of what?

Who knows why?

Scary.

Not like me.

It starts as an itch.

Scratching helps at first.

But it grows,

the rash of discourse,

full-blown tearing, flaking,

away from the skin.

Quick—under the nails

splinters grow.

A cure.

Dr, do tell.

“Ah, my patient,

Close your eyes.

It’s just the amygdala,

programmed, just so,

etched by your peers

into your lobes.

We tried removing

the last one’s arms,

But that was useless.

It was the brain

that needed repair,

removed,

replaced.

Too much.

We can treat the eyes.

A few stitches, laced shut,

blindness might add comfort.

You’d be surprised.”

But really,

the therapist

could reverse your cries.