How Are You?

Lord
only knows.
Just fine, you would suppose.

Half-assed self-assessment? – pusillanimous examination? –
safety far too much the aim? – why not analyze
the game to shreds? Maybe you’ve
developed an affection

for illusions
and warm
beds

(and cavalierly arbitrary spacing, shapes, line-lengths): who’s
to say it doesn’t take less strength to play the rebel
than the steadfast man who diddles

through his middle age
without a startling
plan?

Perhaps
the deal has more
to do with consciousness of endings
than with bending a convention solely for the thrill. You bent

your contours more than anybody else you know
now long enough ago that who but
you could care? Others pour;
perhaps you spill.

But your
whole life’s
a dare. You bet it daily on
a certainty: that you will

learn the what and why
and where: not stop
until the Lord is
not the only

one who
knows.

How
are you?

Just fine, you
would suppose.

.