Mind golem

The
Mind golem lurched to a seated
height, composed

all of pieces of mind

not right, and mind not wrong from
far and wide. Wherever on Earth
such pieces hide, or abide, or glide.

It arose,
and shook!
Its brute frame
flexing constructs
and concepts, flipped
in cascades like a corner-page
animation in ink through
a dog-eared book.

It felt
all through itself
from clever to deep to bright,
from wild to tame, and cooling
from smoking hot to warm,
as urges of might and wrong
canceled out to shining good
in a deep shade of doubt
without shame.
Some blame.

Mostly guilt, but: well-gilt.
Lovely-edged in gold gleams
and rose rinse, dark highlights dyed
and illumined in gorgeous tints.

Then it found its voice,
and it put it away.

The pull and the itch of its
stitches and seams slowly blushed
to numb, and remained at bay. It
had no need of cries, or lies,
or hints. It was slowly becoming

one thing

in mind. A monster in search
of its Frankenstein; it's alive
it's alive. And utterly not

one bit
of this

is going
to be fine.