Not for the first time
Nor probably the last
He’s diving deep down, all his senses overblown
In the transit zone
He’s all alone this time

There’s not a moment to waste
And yet he’s frozen on the spot
By his own self-doubt
Can’t turn about
Might not get out this time

One telephone call’s his right
But while he’s ordering his thoughts into a thread
The line goes dead
And he’s not headed anywhere

Drifting through the different cultures
One licked finger in the air
To check what’s changed and what’s unchanging...
To some surprise the circle’s squared
Way down below the currency
A current runs of which he’s unaware

Can’t turn about
Might not get out this time

He plays it devil-may-care
But he’s not going anywhere