Places to Stay for a While
Chris Garson
I left a hand of crazy eights
At the table, not so certain
As to what the idea was
Whether to ask
To please be excused,
Or wait
For blackbirds baked in pies
To fly, as per rumor.
I turned the afternoon away,
The white, the scatter
Of accident.
Im someone standing somewhere
For whatever reason, would be
Your best guess. A man
Who might go somewhere else
And stand there also for a time.
A word:
Accrue.
I would almost swear to any truth,
Look someone in the eye
And try to see how it might be all right,
Just to be alive for a while longer
The trees all flying shadows
Over the squares of sidewalk.
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