Out Here

Being homeless is a hell of a way
To take the air or get a tan or stay
Attuned to the inside-outness of things

Along with the upside-downness this brings
To the perspective of the indoor-bred
Forced thus to think about each night each day
When a bench in the park becomes a bed
And no one gives you orders anymore
Where a lost life becomes a memory

You have to forget to ever be free
So fight to forget what you once fought for
Which is easier than remembering
The shame clinging to you like dew all night
Forgetting seems the most important thing

Being homeless is a hell of a way
To live but more popular every day
There is more to it than just being poor

And although often caused by addiction
Sometimes some existential conviction
Makes someone feel called to go wandering
In search of inscrutable destiny
Blow with the wind and leave nothing behind
But traces which few non-homeless can see

No roof but the skull which prisons the mind
(And maybe that bottle under the tree)
I never want this to happen to me
Yet there are those who come through it all right
If you are home stay in and lock the door

Lest you end up out here remembering
Forgetting seems the most important thing

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVIII