If I had

a garden of mirrors 

would one tell me

what I look like

would one tell me

what to do

would one tell me

if I mumble too much

would one tell me 

my faults

would one tell me

my future

would one tell me

how to stick it to the man (properly)

would one tell me

the secrets of the CIA

would one tell me

where the door is

would one tell me

if I’m allowed to look back

would one tell me

if there’s someone on my back

would one tell me

when to pull out the pocket knife

would one tell me

how to get to a different land

would one tell me 

an escape route

would one tell me 

when in the night is the right time

would one tell me

if the owls are watching

would one tell me

how to get over it

Looking for an object to place my

wavering steps

But even

these frantic gazes 

won’t shake its stone cold stance

Limestone sand and soda ash shield wall

All reflect back 

only that which I carry

Speaking to me plain

Looking to place these grey matter contradictions

None of that anymore 

I leave it in the garden room