Will Fesperman

I broughte Love into mi bed

I broughte Love into mi bed

Forto kissen al his hed

And eek his stronge hols an brest

His swete lip me liste best

But I aliche kissed alle

Of his partes gret an smalle

An I freode a fide-cok

Which in the hosen hydde, lok

I did upon his herinesse

Eek of yerd his holinesse

Which mi hole hert did prikke

Then mi ars he gan to likke

Mi love he likked sweteliche

Seyd "me thinketh right an wise

Eek delicious it wis"

(So seyde noon afore this)

We groped ech his oune rot

Gronede he, an kyked his fot

The hondes werk of Love was swet

Which in the derk we did complet

Mi herte lusteli brennynge

Whan I kneu mi Love cominge

Sede that we haden, gaven

Ne povres weren we

Ne did we on thing lakken

An riche are in charite

Villanelle

a mouth is a cute asshole

I like how you say bag

any word could be a hassle

you wanna wrassle?

yeah give it a jag

a mouth is I guess an asshole

can you pronounce garçon

can you mount a nag

any one man can be a hassle

but two are kings in ass castle

a dag, what's a dag

a mouth I'd call that an asshole

lose your last lasso

on a long zag

yes you too can be a hassle

but this alas'll

be no lasting wag

if a mouth is too much hassle

and two men too much asshole

*

they fell into phoenician. into me, and my gaelic ward. great pamphlets, morning. i write towards a quiet conference. towards or to ward (off). i put that away and look at the sky. the windows are eating us tonight. i don't look around too much, it's true what you thought. then it shall come down, quicker than a store, everybody remembers eleanor. i'm waiting for this sentence to be over. and this one, to see behind it. but here in about the same place. they carried their sorrow. now.

beauties of english, who took me. i saw - i saw (light).

*

My Family

has a hard time speaking

so writes prolificly

Hard to be the one to listen when I can't

the one to write when I can't write haven't written

I have red I am painting boughs sparkly twigs

waiting in a pretend air

static ancestral demon

postcard snow dell hibernal lichen

a postal moss a weeping hole exceeding star a white planet

a grief lick succor sorry SORRY

*

The hairy flies of spring, rubbing their hands together.

At least--well, why push the needle, or worry about tiles and carpets--I thought I was going

somewhere, and then

To be here -- to speak to you, dead-eyed participant, Wake up and leave, look around you. I'll

keep here in the meantime, to see what I can find, to see -- gone

The moment's gone. The writing, contemptible. But sometimes it gives me great pleasure.

Logan said, "in the waiting room of dream land." We drove to Freezout Lake. He said "Oh no,"

and I asked what was wrong. "Nothing, just saying that." He let out a cry and again I asked

what was wrong--"I was just imagining if I cut off my finger"

*

Will Fesperman is a poet and translator living in Missoula, Montana. To get his poetry zines and fliers, contact him at will(dot)fesperman(at)gmail.