This is how we move.
Step high and stoop low
enter through the exit and don’t
look back. The turnstile doesn’t spin that way.
Even if it did, you wouldn’t know what to do.
Every time I think to peer over my shoulder,
sights of Sodom and Gomorrah filter through my
eyes like a breeze blows through a screen.
There aren’t any fences around, but I shudder to
think of what we’d do, should we see a single
picket puncturing the sandy surface.
In any case, this is how we move.