A Drop in the Desert

Near or far, the Beast beckons. His sirens cal luring me to a state of fool consciousness. Just a taste he says. Just a taste indeed. But I am a starving man and just a taste will never due. A traveler lost, and this oasis I seek is certainly not offered by that wolf adorned in all the regalia of the sheep. As Odysseus was tied to the mast, so must I be. For it is true what they say; this cat has lived all nine lives. So where does one go when walking on last legs? “With the wind at my back and feet on the road, no stopping till I get home”. Comforting words for the lost wanderer. But detours persist. As I said, beware the sirens call my friends, for she will end you. Crashed along the rocky coast line, gone the way of Odysseus. Walking in circles and spirals only to find yourself farther away.

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