Going
as a lifestyle
has its perks.
One needn’t 
be transfixed
on “home” if
you carry it 
everywhere.
One needn’t 
fret about
the changing
neighborhood
or how the
property has
depreciated
since, you know,
all these people
moved in. And
one needn’t worry
about all those
stationary problems —
sinks backing up
and the like. One
may just go and
buy something 
house-like on wheels
and go, go, go.
It’s historically 
healthy too to 
regain the pioneer
spirit — open road,
living off the land,
campgrounds, blue
skies, see this big 
country at last before
it’s overrun with
the Others. Maybe
one could outrun 
it all. Maybe one
could even
cross a border
the right way and 
keep going. No place,
after all, like home,
home with a range,
a pump out bathroom,
a pull out bed,
and all the gas
one can guzzle. 
Keep going until
the end and then
be burned and scattered
wherever the end is:
keep going a little while longer
on the wind,
end up soaking into 
the soil somewhere,
the green grass
of home or something 
like that recalled from
the past before
the call of the karmic wheel.