Wikipedia Poem, No. 461

“Almost noon, the distant sun / rode straight above us like a god / aware of everything and like / a god utterly silent. What / could ever grow from this ground / to feed anyone? And who bore / the mysterious child who spoke in riddles?” Philip Levine

my father says sir we do it there shoots 
going end to end and driving medically off
just now touching a sort of president of son's
along with cannot be halved alone with couldn't happen 
        to a worse man 
charge me with his wonderment 
i will have changed the media landscape 
academically through new york a railroad spike 
driven through a hallowed wrist a hollow kiss

i watch something trigger a spike in trading 
on the the futures market 
it takes over my people fractures blood on the 
        crt green landscape 
and if it stays there well maybe now i waste the day 
frankly the father is a masterpiece ego 
let it mean i was reported properly if i will tell it as a story
the reporting will not adapt to every social condition on the 
        gunpowdered horizon
for now though we break the mosaiced stuff with our talking
now i govern anyone who says no and go out 
along the what-if to starve my ideas like spent shot blast