eight chairs to either side - written over the course of this sunny spring Saturday
eight chairs to either side
of a
wooden table reflecting
flourescence
from the sheen
of fresh varnish
chairs to
be populated
with all
manner of sitters
conversing
and reading and
texting
and eating and heads
down on
arms sleeping and
worrying
and crisis-broken
and
crisis-driven and crisis-
causing
and crying and
laughing
and giggling
and
talking with tormented
invisible
companions
but all
this is the stuff
of
commerce and stiff
competition
for sitting space
in a
clean, warm, well-lit place
and gives
commerce its death-
stretching,
life-taking blood
when to
sleep ‘neath the stars
means on
concrete ‘neath a bridge
and I’ll
swim through mud
to make
this point, and once
the mud
is hosed from my body
with fire
hoses will the scars
begin to
firm and take shape
and color
and assume the design
of
letters to form words to build
these lines,
the last of which
you have
just read, yes
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