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