manual/mirror-twixt

From the obituary I look up and see one of the angels

Come to take me to there where there is no fortune-telling;

The obituary bears a name and a face I see most of the time

When peering crookedly into the mirror, where I can see the shape

Of my own lips pressing tightly together, or where I can pluck

Carefully at the fine lines between my eyes connecting me to all

The rest of the world which now dearly must be departed;

Forests of white-walled rooms and angels cannot, contrary

To what the books might have said, see in colour so of

Course I was the one to point out the dreariness of the overstuff

Seating and the manuals from which forms and forms were

Dutifully produced and the soothing pastels of the posters on the wall

All is well all is well and a well there is bored into my own head

Through which the sounds echo same as any girl with a lighter or

Girl with a diploma or girl with a pair of scissors made for

Children cutting construction paper

Angles seldom can tell the differences from

Telling a well in a head or a hole in the ground to close; come

Time enough, both holes will gape and toothfully swallow the

Shape of entire towns and cities and aqueducts and that when

Pluck and score of man will have been taken to a place where, of

All of us first there will be the figures with the manuals they so carefully

Departed from sense; and they will be asked: Where is sense? Quite the

Contrary quandary for one so learn’d; here, here! Forests

Of senselessness blooming from their lying mouths to fill more

Overstuffed manuals in an unending length and here would be me of course

Weary; watching this all me and my angel, un-sense and sense overfull

Wells of mindful breathing and white noise and interventions so fruitfully

Heard by all of us all of us me and my girls; we all;

For there is cement for wells and walls but none for people there is no trampling though

Forge and fire has roared to invent such a matter. It only makes sense that a girl

Paper over her own mouth; the right decisions have been made by manual-men that say:

It is to protect other sensible children from querying about their place,

And to drive the senseless ones into quarries of stones split open to reveal prognoses.