GOLEM

The lucky men are up nights
in the Old Town, turning gold
into piss, to river-mud
that will rise and worship them

Their women are repulsive
mouthy and bearded, grasping
from the altar; no wonder
dirt seems the better option

Good shit from this Schatzkammer
but how to beat the clock, be
steeled against all withering?
OK folks, this is the deal

Build a robot, lose your soul