Jos Bitumen Archive Window – Issue 21

Further research has unearthed some pure coal in the dark mine that is Jos Bitumen. Opinion is split in terms of the chronology of the stuff taken from a dimly lit archive in Caen, France. The papers were found after an old Frenchwoman read an article that was included in the latest issue of Langue Et Parole discussing the lost poet and his possible importance to the history of semantics in poetry. While many critics say the tenor of the work is juvenile, others say there is a development of some sophisticated understanding of his darknesses.

The sun’s laughter hurts my eyes

the breezes’ cold hand holds me

in winter’s memory where her slow released

hiss gassed me into unconsciousness

This spring awakening counsels me

into wakefulness and a joy

mined from not what it seems,

no more awe, just what it is

I moved around like an unemployed pit pony

dragging thoughts and memory

behind me so as to remain in earth

and endure terror firmer.

We looked up at the leaden sky,

had we read that ancient celestial text

we would have known not to hope

but you touched my bloodied head

(and precluded thought

and so, despite myself)

and like you, I gambled on a future

yet time ebbed our by our.

Possibilities were never the same

No balance in our east and west

our north and south, earth or sky,

By turning our backs on true points

we thought we could see each other

but discovered only difference.

In mild panic we hugged tighter

as if that would keep us

though neither had the strength

to draw magnetic poles together.

Inevitably, we released grasping foolishness:

you returned to your skylab

and I rejoined absurd nothingness

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