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In the Cockpit.

Zoom in close
to the face. Instantly drawn
into orbit till you stare
into the eyes. Go to the pupil
on your left, concentrate

on the endless pool of darkness
until it seems to swallow
you, blackest of the blackness
going over and around

till you’re inside
the Other’s mind, 
they’re inside yours
or you share

a transient bubble universe,
a telepathic chat-room,
a pre- or post-linguistic
game of charades

or whatever:
the target
may be conscious,
maybe not,

in either case:
you’re at the wheel,
in the cockpit. 

So: drive.


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