My naked naiad.
And the future hold on planning a home,
idea roaming in the garden,
round and lush as the ripest pear,
succulent, yet the violence that we fear.

We, the outsiders on the avenue,
down-and-out´s of you, the city,
among her, the by-and-by of our tall love,
candied oh, it feels as mourn in disguise.

The whole clouds of Misses falling,
the circumstance of clasp and daily tallying,
the minute of you gliding,

a diurnal breeze embracing remarkably,
deathless, the skies meet deeply.

The darkest deed will remain unlocked,
yet we wander through and through,
on our poor legs still running,
squarely we´ll stand victorious
from a high-spread gnu and all lulling.

A nymph of fairy-tales and unborn suns,
such purity wont lose its voice,
bird call it is, monochord of you and me,
this is, my dear, our bound of harmony.

My love, I assure you,
I will plan a duo, and you will reach a tune.

And just like the mimes, they do not speak,
but form their mouths, around a kiss,
this holy sentence; "I love you,"
is just another act of self-destruction.

This is just another act, milady.  
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...