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Романтикам в Америке не особенно везло — тут вспоминаются и Бакунин, и Троцкий, и герой Достоевского Кириллов. В Америке было куда выгодней работать, чем совершать революции.

elegy on having once crossed the continent

the poor travel more often which would seem
a paradox to a business class enthusiast
an habitué of star lodges and such
but stands to reason once your entire estate
fits into a knapsack the world begins to move
around you one thing though you must be poor
enough

so once i was and the grayhound
is surely a different mode of locomotion
from those that scour the sky one almost tastes
the land as if the sediment on one's teeth
and utah tastes much different from wyoming
the more i moved back then the more i stayed
at the crossroads the further went my frame
the more my inner crux remained immobile
unable to make choice between directions
by the sheer taste of sediment on my teeth

was it in indiana it must have been
the south shore of lake michigan was all
covered with constant lightnings i have never
observed such a dense assembly of them
it was as if the country grew a fur
of flame through which our arc of fearful fleas
was making progress there for the first time
i must have felt an inkling of arrival
as if the storm had rearranged my circuits
embedding some false memories within
of the lake to which i then swore allegiance
the blind anchor scraping the ground at last

i haven't grown rich since but the whole thing
as i now see it seems akin to a stage
in the development of barnacles
who look like minute shrimp when they are babies
yet later cling to some convenient surface
and build a shell around themselves from which
not one ever emerges i must have
surrendered my identity but as
a form of compensation they acquire
an anatomical device so odd
that i would rather stop here to avoid
a digression both irrelevant and gross

but sometimes in my sunset slumber i
feel with my tongue the incisors that are ground
down almost to the gums no sediment
in the old age the walls around move closer
does one recall before the light goes out
the vast horizon pierced by the host of lightnings
sweet grass of youth and forests teeming with
animals of all color but the purple
especially the birds you must have seen them
those stemless flowers in the air above