How can I be sure
I’m the best one for the job,
a statue hewn from rose quartz,
a slab for nose, a chunk for body,
two lips unable to speak or eat but able to see
those from whose veins and arteries
blood flows like a round of tides—
restlessat every entrance and off ramp
a face floats on the public square
with the push of a button, and so I ask,
what need is there for golem
when men craft their own look-alikes
from lies and mud?