it’s time to make a golem
i’ll get a lot of clay

and start with the head
“obovoid, appreciably” the manual will say

i will look the words up
just to be careful

it is important in important things
to avoid mistakes

then the eyes
my bright marbles in thumbed-in sockets

“for best results,
press lightly”

it’s dark and the soldiers are advancing
mother says we must leave early

i will pinch out the ears to resemble small stadiums
but quickly now

the body has to be big
bigger than father’s memory

a golem can stand up to “anything,
even lava”

so a small one will do
but a big one will do better

will scare them away
before they even try to see what we left behind

it’s dark and the soldiers are advancing
we must pack before it’s time

feet even bigger than father’s boots
the manual will say “golems don’t need clothes anyway”

mother says tomorrow is a big day
it’s dark and the soldiers are advancing

so i’ll get a lot of clay
and when they come they’ll find my golem

and run
run away


they left early
leaving me here without knowing i was here

they left with their bags heavy
and if they had turned their pink eyes round

then they would have seen me rising from the garden
grubby new and immortal

and maybe they would have all run from the sight of me
run from the sight of my giant movements

run from the sight of my thumbed-in eyes
that shine like planets

i can feel blood going in ribbons
threading ticklishly past my elbows

not clay no
something else affected this body tissue

the clouds are small and paraffin and up
and the trees are vegetable colored

munitions are whimpering against me
the house is well the soldiers flee for cover

my sudden birth and purpose do not strike me as peculiar
i feel limber and familiar

there are mobile joints throughout me
my shoulders are heavy-strutted

before they return with their heavy bags
i think i will be gone

some wishes are best met
when the magic is never known

not clay no
i know this without knowing how i know

i feel a molten neon glowing spark
from the zero-point of youth and need and dream

the dazzling intersection of x y and z
i can feel her thumb-prints behind my eyes glow





weiLogan Wei lives in the upper Midwest with his wife and hypertensive quadruped. He has worked with patients, prisoners, students and the homeless. Poetry is for him a solacing and natural means of seeking matrimony between the two irreconcilable parties of reality and experience.