I have a comfortable hand-me-down jacket
Rich with the twang of hand-rolled cigarettes
and tinted here and there by pools of coffee
dropped carelessly from trembling, inexperienced fingers
And staring up at meaningless swaths of beautiful hazelnut branches
I finger its endless oddities, that which set it apart from name-brands
and jackets shown attentive, retail-value care
It's less of me and more of where I go when me becomes too much
A portable cave of annexed ideas and thoughtful conversations
Hour-long stints of gazing mindlessly at shaggy carpeting
When I have nothing
Which is the majority of my parsed time
I suit up in the fineries of homelessness
And in the vacuum of pea-green introspection
I fulfill my needs
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