Wandering on.
Through a waste
of perils we have already faced,
blown by the hot winds of desire,
pursued by our own shadows,
touched by the invisible fire,
surrounded by supravisible foes.
From waste to waste.
From oasis to oasis;
and every place is
populated with its Maras and its deities,
its hedonists and those who say it is
only a question of just getting by
and waiting for the lottery in the sky
to rain down its fools’ gold.

Bought and sold.
New debts to pay;
an eternally unbalanced ledger
clocking up, day by day.