The world is for tourists now,
even the closest sureties,

arms, homes,
desperate leisure,

appetite for fear, dependence on relics,
grudging acknowledgment of self-sovereignty.

Everything is available,
everything is failing.

Let's be judicious in our extravagances,
surplus to desire's deficits,

deviations from monotony,
recusal from hysteria.

We shit upon the world,
but where else should we have shat?