He clings to concrete with steadfast faith that what he grasps is indeed reality's true form.
He has the Lord our Dollar to guide him
through the unpaved fields ripe for parking,
past the infidels who dare question Free Market scripture,
to his asphalt kingdom.
[hallelujah]

If ever Doubt whispers infinity into his sleeping ear,
scattering seeds
whose roots might embed themselves in that stone
and turn it to fertile soil,
he hurls those seeds back in Doubt's face
and tightens his grip on the only concept of truth his hands,
rigid with cold conviction,
would ever dare to grasp.