IN THIS GREAT
LEAGUE OF NATIONS
Ocular and wordless, a vision form
something far off : we parodize the
very sound of living. Forty together,
just making noise. This spike belongs
in the hearty hand. Even Job's three
friends would listen now. Oh then,
believe me, I haven't done a thing.
From beneath this land I am the
root vegetable that, maybe, prospers.