No shirt, no shoes,
a little chilled in my own living room.
I could get up and put on a shirt
but then I’d have to move.
Could make coffee —
Paying bills by computer,
sending invoices by computer,
making poems by computer,
communicating with you all by computer.
None of this
seems lazy to me.
It’s the way the morning goes
most days. Eventually, I’ll move
and re-enter physical space —
a lie, I’m there now, of course,
sensing my empty stomach,
scratching the occasional itch.
How perfect are the ways of the brain
and mind that it requires so little sweat
to leap mountains and deserts
in order to survive, and that all it takes
is to move a few fingers at a time
for my friends to know I exist,
what I’m thinking, how Godlike
I am though I am fat and dirty
and hungry this morning,
and a little cold, as well.