September 18, 2013
Gospel of the Golem of Los Angeles
The students glisten with youth. Every one of them is beautiful.
The world has yet to enter them and breathe away their souls.
I want to be like the children, but I am dirt and clay.
I woke one day and told myself, Stand up and walk like a man!
I raised my dust up out of bed and looked into the mirror
but couldn’t read the word written by my forehead lines.
I keep a piece of paper under my tongue and on it one word: be.
So I write my way into my life, trying to name it as it leaves
and walk this clay around, a thing empty of belief.
My body’s covered with hair, just like a human being,
but my hands are sticks, my brain’s in rags. These days
I feel the hand of death on my forehead and it feels like a relief.
“The Golem of Los Angeles” (Red Hen Press, 2008).
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