Poem 72

An insomniac’s fantasy … taking the story of Atahualpa’s Ransom – the Spanish demand to fill a room with gold gathered from all corners of the Inca empire – and replacing gold with sleep … title from a lyric in Mr. Tambourine Man …

( I like the almost-rhyme of continent/quantities … )

Evening’s Empire

All you incas bring sleep
take it from your hiding places
pull it up from your lakes
in your ant-tracking thousands bring it
here to this room
pile it as high as this line
pour it in by the capful by the skinful
by all your ancient sacred containers
your coiled bracelets of sleep your headgear
your plates and cups and knives and spoons
of solid sleep
               sleep by dust and bar
sleep in the outline of unknown animals
sleep in the shape of your gods
I don't fear them
or you
       your greased slave bodies
toiling over mountains your new green continent
sweating its precious quantities
until the level laps the line

I dive
the dream tears back from my mouth
the incas take it and go off
singing