The Muse is absent. I fret over the keyboard, bereft
of imagination. I have heard the legends
of golems, creatures made of earth, mute and
obedient to their masters. What I need is a poetry golem.
A golem is easily made.
In ancient days such knowledge the arcana
of only the sagest rabbis steeped in the lore
of Seder Yetzirah, The Book of Creation.
Aha. That was before the Internet.

I make my golem from riverbank mud

From Words God created the Universe, ordained
the order of the twenty and two signs of the aleph-bet
wrote the first poem-- "Bereshith" -- "In the beginning"
Now I chant the four-hundred and sixty-two two-fold
permutations of the Hebrew letters
spell out the ninety-nine unnamable names of God.
mold the shape of my mud-man.

Golems have feet of clay.
My golem's feet are iambs.
Finally, I inscribe on its forehead

"EMET" -- TRUTH

The mud takes shape, comes alive-- a girl golem, slight
with pixie hair, dressed in the manner of a poetess.
She sits at the computer, waiting. I command her,
"Write me a poem."
She taps out the letters

Roses are red
Violets are blue

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

"Oh, Golem! Original! Original!"

Enough. I alter the letters on her forehead

"M'TAH"-- DEATH

The golem reverts to earth.
I spread it in the garden and plant cabbages.

......................................................................Israel Lewis