Who can abide the day,
the night. Here is the bed
holding the room in thrall.
Some people hang photographs
of what may come. Old calendars
with days torn out. Counting
backwards from 100
is said to work. Lay out
a few anodynes. Pills,
water, a book or two.
You can leave the light on.
Lists of memories. Put
the radio on low.
Phones will not be relevant.
Sometimes friends wait
downstairs. They are
surrendering their own lips.
Your cat will never leave you.
john mann poems 
You caught my mood today, John.
“Phones will not be relevant,” and “They are surrendering their own lips, aren’t needed” take me out of the poem. Honestly, everybody has lips in a poem except me. “Phones will not be relevant” is, I think, not true, at least for some tow-away cases. At any rate, I just don’t think it’s as strong a line as the others.