Jósef mb Pétursson
mowmington
is there another—
a lover will i know?
(you never could for me)do you please
him
—and if so is it
for him?—or’s it for thee?a–my
land
the bridestone hangs before the congregation of the bones
roughhewn from the tribulations wrought by tangled stones
and even though their epitaphs may knit the roots of toil
their hoary fingers scrabble forth to knot within the soil
ix. december remember me walking the island
when i die
(the morning after i’ve passed)
will you be there? i want to know if you’ll cry.
will you know our time lost is now gone?
viii. if in salt i dream (i die we walk our road) from sea to sky
lateautumn ember sky, to slowly/fast in quietly light/to
lying down
and deep to die. And ’though i never wash i walk close to the
shower/And how nice, to come any hour,crash through
office walls through plaster boards
vii. unnourished spathiphyllum soil evokes in me i’ll die
When I looked at your face timeless and transcendent body,
I saw our children, on the
rickety swingin’ legs knobbly while slow-motion sun.
vi. local dirtwives want young
and a pool cue to the knob
Watch out ya dopey twat
The fuck you say mate
Careful ya cunt
Then is wife
pretty
mooned
v. godrevy on the ’rizon
In Pedn Olva would that I had the touch
of her with curls raven flow waven descend
She’d sit on the stool gazing out gentlest smile
for crashwhite crests melting undulous laps)
then return to me reverie lashes in deference
to the gravity of we hover before the saltrocks
iv. bamaluzotachyphrenia
, all alone in your; and It’s
not physical Miserable; it’s your house but your
now’s the small hows in which we are alone; At home
iii. dog with ball
come two in the coast town quiet or loud
(for on my isthmus softly ebb
sparkling blurs of holiday gents) i emerge
a silhouetted stigma on salted slate