Between Sun and Sand
In and of itself, the market is not, and must not become,
the place where the strong
Limbo, the weight of neither here nor there,
bears whispers of what we keep and what we discard.
Remnants of souls rise among foreclosures
in vast tracks of land now riddled with ghost towns.
As we look away, those who have nothing and
those who have more than they need press on
like the zombies in The Night of The Living
Dead: we are all on the move, on the march.