Good At It
03.04.15
Don’t worry,
it’s early.
The Great Dane’s voice comes down like a leg
through the living room’s afternoon
where you are zoned out
and good at it.
To be good at it is to
be willing to start over.
Staring at the big tongues
of the fiddle leaf fig,
afternoon.
It is good at being nonlinear,
the afternoon.
The tongues emit heat,
love.
Good at entropy,
everything.
Love kind of
thins out
if stretched. I imagine it hanging, hammered
pin thin,
between then and now.
I am not good at the truth.
It doesn’t
elate me
like it does
good people.
Peace
is making space for everything:
pine boards, afternoon, deceit.
Go about a little empty
and you will be good at it.
The gatelock clicks:
a cogent
go.
