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"Alexander Supertramp"


he calls himself.
O, to exchange a word or two
with him— with our backs
against the cold bus
or while wandering into
the wild through his
wonders and wishes
among the overgrown brush.
his doubt and fear are in
the crystalline stream ensnared,
drowned with the emotional
baggage and such,
burned with the flames
that pawed his green dollars,
entangled in the clock hands
that have not shifted since
they first touched
Alaskan air. McCandless
wishes to hitch up Nature’s
dropped stitches. shoeless
and stale, he will slip
underneath her hem
and sleep.
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