Just like the corner of the day...
... And now we are lower than we lay.


Undermost, wall-to-wall, our heads hang low.
Heavily they hover;
spilling feverish droplets from the
darkest clouds onto the foreground.
"How can they be so heavy?"
They wheeze! They wheeze!
"O! The stupor is exhaling."
They are chugging towards
the bluish wheelbarrows.
Whilst we park under, in vain.
(--Where´s the rain?)
The first, the second,
and the third day in a row we rede;
"Ms. Mater; We are dying! Give us relief!"
And the streets are on fire.
--And the streets are on fire.
And the buildings, oh,
they are like black diamonds.

(In the rain we´ll dance.
--But where´s the rain?)


And now we are lower than the day we died.  
Viktor Kaldalóns
1987 - ...


Ljóð eftir Viktor Kaldalóns

Sær í átt að sæng.
Ástarljóð til hins visna.
Minn kæri vin... það mun versna.
Málverk stöðnunar.
St. Coll.
Windows blow in like ten thousand ice floes upon the snowy quarters.
The brighter side of the day goes down in three, two, one...
Náðarhögg.
The first lightpost on St. Coll.
My date of birth kept in memory of a bartender (pt. one).
My date of birth kept in memory of a bartender (pt. two).
It feels like dying, you know...
Útöndun.
Our graves undulate with fever.
Fáninn lágreisti.
The regent roads to nowhere; the end of the world.
Just like the corner of all nights.
Just like the corner of the day...
Tunglhaf.
Anddyrið kringum sviðið.
Lágröddun.
Væg túlkun.
The dead queen and us.
Endir á litblæ, hulinn bær.
Útrýming.
Líflaus blómstrun.
Skýrar, en þó svo daufar.
Sunnudagsgredda.
Dálæti; og ástin bíður ósigur.
Brotin umgjörð.
Svartur er sjórinn.
Horfin fjarvera.
Og allt varð grátt.
Ljóðið fannst aldrei.
The lively queen and us.
Tilvonandi Eilífðartími.
Dökk spor.
Í eyði.
The prime of the queen.
Sýningin tælandi á sviði slökknandi borgarljósa.
Regina.
Upstream they went towards the valley.
Contiguous grapevine, old and all around.
Unsuited.
Carry a no-win mist inside God´s acre.
With only a wire and death attached.
Drizzling in tween the rest.
Without a pole star and wherries to take us home.
I will leave you dumfounded just like before.
Heilög borg?
Well lit allure of anesthesia.
My naked naiad.
Pharisaic lifetime of a saint.
Einfari; loftmengun.
Brúðguminn.
Þú og ég.
Ylur.
Herskari.
Örvilnun skýjaglópana.
Sjónarhorn skuggsælla engla í sorgarklæðum.
Lof efstu svalanna.
Það er að stytta upp.
Vöggugjöf launmorðingjans.
Blessun.
Fjárhagsörðugleikar nútímablíðu.
Von er...
Vonleysi er...