"Bound."
"I don't know the name of the place with the local radio
station on the cliff, the neon sign with its frequency numbers
rising high in the night almost to the sky.
It must mean the American interior
still harbors the early notion of building the ruler's temple
as high as possible, a vertical optical illusion playing
on human and divine perspective.
In Washington this kind of attitude's
been allotted the nicest plateau in front
of St. Elizabeth's Hospital.
There, as an old man, since he'd been committed to the asylum
for reading on Italian radio Ezra Pound,
surveyed in the city in the ravine,
his lion's mane waving in the wind."