Stateless

Stateless, homeless, moving around
With only an hour here or there. Each
Hour paid in coffee and soul.

Time dragging, the only thing left in bulk
And in surplus. Each minute monitored
Each hour noted.

A heavy bag and a full car, suits in bags,
Chargers to hand. Each stop a welcome rest,
But also a search for power - for them and for me.

That only I am aware of me, for most there is only a
Small corner shadow of no concern. I notice, though,
And want to have my home.

Each simple thing. No bag, no weight, no coat, no timer.
Permission to sit and stare with no cost. No concern about
A welcome used.

Learning new rules for new spaces. Beds with strange quirks,
Each switch different, each pillow a new fit. Each
Daytime refuge with new zone, new requirements.

Each day is new, but I cannot embrace the novelty, instead
Fighting against the need to learn so often,
To adapt.

So simple are my needs now. My machines in yesterday’s home,
To hand and to have. My clothes in their homes, they too are
Lost in the movement.

Statelessness is now me. It has washed away joy and warmth
So that each smile is a work, each chuckle generated.
This is me, this movement, this freedom.
This drift.