Thats what they called them
in the old days,
touched.

Those men on busy street corners,
their heads down,
mumbling dark,
constant sermons,
on road sides,
in the middle of nowhere,
arms outstretched,
shouting revelations
to the fathomless skies.

Insane,mad,uneven,
unbalanced,
schizophrenic,psychotic,
all words with the same meaning,
touched.

But touched by what?

Christ in the garden,
the vision of Crazy Horse,
John the Baptist,
knee deep in the Jordan,
the voices of poets
thrown against the harshness
of this world.

And us,
moving around them
in fast paced swarms,
as if they weren't
even there.

Who are the truly
touched?