Time and time and time outworn –
The stripped gears of the celestial clock
sing on in squealing choruses of metal on metal –
A clicking horror of Swiss precision in my pocket,
I understand the taproot of the only tree –
surviving, though the brutal hands claw back across that marked face to their first
upward disassociation,
speaking in their whirring dialect of love, the doom and destination of order.

Erich Campbell

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