When we mull over the way things are
There are distortions, faulty memories.
Things that don’t add up,
Some blame on the calculator.

All those on the road to here,
Didn’t make it, playing by rules
They never wrote. Under the freeway
Out in the great openness we all strive

To explore in youth’s inquisitive grasping
Are more cardboard houses traveling
Lightly away from order and routine
And the horizon we never reach.

Calling out in the dark,
Away from mall neon and saccharine song
Are the refuges of bad math.
They clutch remnants of a life

Now emptied of excessive essentials.
Sleeping on the streets builds character
Say talking heads who never did.
In the vast green park we all love

You must keep moving. Do not linger
In despair’s alcove or look for
Straight answers to bent questions
We no longer share with each other.