Metaphysical therapists crowd my desk,
Setting me in front of their mirroring texts
Like barbers, ballet teachers, funhouse impresarios.
They urge me to lift my sights, to work
Harder, to use their multiple reflections
To guide the rehabilitation of my career mind.
Blogs quote poems, poems photographs,
And professors meditate on the fine arts
Of book reviews, abstract painting,
Spring walks, anguished, heartfelt
Politics, classroom discussions,
Time, green, goodness, grants,
Until I can hardly tell in their swarm
Of words, which are their instructions,
Which are just shoptalk over my head.
They're here to help me. They're paid
And well-trained. I mimic them, flailingly,
Recovering slowly. My head hurts. Now stand.
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