the bays rush could not sustain me,
Is some far away land my only refuge?
I seek lost sands, desolate wood.
i tire of bleak cliffs, rolling
hills of elephant hides, the stink
of the ass, braying for moderation,
excitement died long ago, i fear
i too can expire, here, this flat land
and mountains roll in sadness, I
tire and sadden moment after moment
again, in this American Dream.