by Raphael Moser
Spheres circling rolled back a space
For the debris of cellular proliferation
To perform
Bureaucrats were assigned
To deduct the xxx concoctions
And prorate the radical interventions
A retro-fitted pc manufactures
A living wage
The prioress has decreed a temporal hold
In this divine place
The last remnants of nurtured pity
And learned excess are anachronistic
The telephone rang on the second floor
Of the reconverted barn
The door was locked
A convenient ladder gained entry
Through an open window
One day your luck will run out he said
