Robert Verdon, #401, theft

recurring nightmare of the trial

your job threatened by a machine

‛entrepreneurs’ can be automated too

(as Brecht said, hangmen also die)

winter is tossed into the air, summer falls

no connection between my melancholy

and the wind of change

property harrowed by its own issue

as Christ harrowed hell

and the unnameable

ache of outliving your children

butterfly forever broken

crucified as we are between creation

and the ancient clock until

life is just another hairspring of tears