I'm not dead

At the Seaside Public Library

We Pilgrims at the Internet’s alter
combine for
quite an odor.

Homelessness is an afluence of time.
Though the stacks are many
we’ve got time
though many have no time for us.

I see relief and friendship
in the eyes of a teen
huddled over a book of Bukowski.

Without suspicion I am shown to the bathroom
wherein I quickly drink a bottle concealed on my person.
Then it’s back to my scribbling at the table.

Meth, meth, you scare me to death...
but so did Philadelphia
and 9/11.

As I leave
I wave farewell
to those who wish me well,
and mumble ‘go to hell,’
to those offended by my smell.