from Fist or Words Bereft of Sense
by Eiríkur Örn Norðdahl
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X.
Eating pikes and stallions
emaciated welfare harlots
in triumphant euphoria doddering knuckleheads
wrapping themselves upp in bonds gilded and
sweetened, embroidered, laminated,
covered in the most expensive silk crowns
can buy while the son of a bitch is burning
and the hospital food is keeling over
Everyone knows that it can’t go on
like this anymore we must
eventually have to face
these our longings of sociopathic
tailors while the blessed ocean gives
in and the floor is leaking This will not
be mended with words or deeds You
must see the worthless sauntering about
in the slush and the sludge whining they
the angels of all of our yesterday’s to-
morrows
And somewhere close by
the creaking of democracy
X.
E n d u r e n d u r e n d u r e
e n d u r e n d u r e the wonder
and marvel and thunder
sand built on land
sinking in the sand
winds row and grounds heal
distended diaphragms of the breathless
singing capitals of letters
There will be no conditions
made or provisos of words
the world is costless
for those who make bold and
shop
In the distance the sound
of ancient loans overdue
X.
Stocks gaping over
the grooves of the perplexed
bleeding with ease from pockets
lined with photographs of
vikings in all sorts of swashbuckling
tight spots of unsavage images
crying darlings at our likenesses
in nonstop scuffles with
walls of garages
so that the members
of the farmer party
most honourable
will stand frightened
On blogs the cussing of Pound
meets the shrieking of Lorca |
