A Supermarket in California

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Satoshi Nakamoto, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for substances, I went
into the neon fruit Silk Road, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes!—and you, Ross Ulbricht, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, Satoshi Nakamoto, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the posts on the forum and eyeing the model
trains.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bitcoins? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of code
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

Where are we going, Satoshi Nakamoto? The doors close in
an hour. Which way does your train point tonight?
(I touch your coin and dream of our odyssey in the
blackmarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.

Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, normcore, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when DPR quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Tor?

Adapted from Allen Ginsberg.