Psalm 10 (part 2)
ל Lonely. Will You too, Love, by-stand and walk away?
Now, when wide eyes narrow with fear and anger, grief,
you go [and leave me to be] hounded by a pride in my depravity?
Seeing solitude as deprivation, who thinks that way?
כ Come on. No wonder
the nefesh-self’s songs exacerbate an appetite for fills that are fleeting.
The kneeling supplicant feels rejection, kindnesses distorted by distance.
It’s all, going, like that. כל. לך.
מ Mixed up, and down in מזימות, joys zooming by,
Truths twisted, מלא מרמות, Judgement lurking, מארב,
Mindfulness hiding, מסתרים. Hidden.
נ “Not me,” said Defiance. Brought low, nonetheless,
Fallen, נפל, crest of mane, words of mouth, line of sight, strength of bone.
ס Slipping in and out of sight.
ע On what grounds does the poor one, עני, with no place to lie down,
stand accused? Answer me! עני!
פ Please. Of your mouth, I can see no movement, hear no sound, feel no kiss.
צ Tzurrus, Ach. חצרות, נצח, ever the outsider, blind to the eternal, here-now.
ק Quickly! Up-Stand, YaH! Raise your hand, El, make waves.
Ignore me no longer.
ר Restore your vision of me in me to see to the root
of this turmoil covered over and soiled by anger,
that this hand may extend assurance and aid to others abandoned or lost.
ש Shatter this armor defending shadows of truth and higher-self.
Shed this longing exacerbated by its own indulgence.
Soon its unfoundedness
shall be revealed, and we shall witness YaH reclaiming the reigns,
selfish usurpers uprooted by sacred service.
ת Testimonies heard. Truths unspoken understood at last.
Ears turned and attuned, balance and harmony restored.
Children orphaned no longer, impoverishment, oppression,
man’s abuse of power – eradicated from the earth.
 Little remains of the original acrostic structure of this psalm that might have continued the alphabetic form begun in the previous psalm. The כ /chaph and the ל /lamed are there, but the order is reversed. What follows is an attempt at reconstruction of an earlier acrostic form that also retains the labored, patchwork feel of the text we’ve inherited.