Dream/Songs from the Moon of Beulah Land I—V

I
How much love can I pour into you I said
before it runs out of you
like undigested spinach
or shall I stuff you
like a ritual goose
with whatever you think
you want of me
and for whose killing
shall I grow you up
to leave me
to mourn
in the broken potsherds
upon my doorstep
in silent tears of the empty morning?

But I’m not going anywhere you said
why is there always
another question
beyond the last question
answered
out of your mouth
another storm?
It’s happening
I said.

II
Whenever I look for you the wind
howls with danger
beware the tree arms scream
what you are seeking
will find you
in the night
in the fist of your dreaming
and in my mouth
the words became sabers
cutting my boundaries
to ribbons
of merciless light.

III
I dreamt you were driving me
in a big black Mazda
the car with a rotary engine
that ate up three kinds of gas at the same time
and whenever we came
to a station upon our journey
I would have to jump out
and explain
to the redfaced attendant
with a panting hose in his hand
that each kind of gas
gave us very different mileage
and we needed them all
for the combined use of all three
would get us to where we were going
with a great economy
of energy.

IV
You say I am
sound as a drum
but that’s very hard to be
as you cover your ears
with academic parchment
be careful
you might rip the cover
with your sharp nails
and then I will not sound at all.

To put us another way
what I come wrapped in
should be familiar to you
as hate is
what I come wrapped in
is close to you

as love is
close
to death
or your lying tongue
surveying the countries
of our mouths.

If I were drum
you would beat me
listening for the echo
of your own touch

not seeking
the voice of the spirit
inside the drum
only the spreading out shape
of your own hand on my skin
cover.

If I ever really sounded
I would rupture
your eardrums
or your heart.

V
Learning to say goodbye
is finding a new tomorrow
on some cooler planet
barren and unfamiliar
and guiltless.

It costs the journey
to learn
letting go
of the burn-out rockets
to learn how
to light up space
with the quick fire of refusal
then drift gently down
to the dead surface
of the moon.