The Moon Over Bedlam
by Sammy Bellin
The Moon Over Bedlam
Obsessing over someone, I don’t care
who persuaded Sleep to fill this orchard
with oxtongue dreams of ancient lover’s lips—
Recall, we were there, like golden losers
watching all the fruit flow with mooning stares.
We were vacant, broken, we needed this.
The bed was my world. You shoved it ajar,
and filled it with the moon over bedlam,
a queen on rye and Ukrainian wheat.
You could etherize my tinpot kingdom
and replace it with borders, brutes, wild beasts
akin to the belts of bright leather stars,
I still gawked at you endlessly. Other
me’s mocked and filled your pockets with wear,
pushed you off to the islands in the east.
That was devil-done, dared by the man-feast
I feared would find you. Doubtful me. Brother,
don’t you know the moon doesn’t disappear?