From UPPLAND by Aase Berg

Uppland lightland hovercraftland
Good yellow circles
lightband after lightband

All my shooting stars
sparkle over Uppland
See how all of Uppland
stands in flame
burns border

steer softly out of hullwreck
lander, loader
crushed sewn whole

Creep under the skin
Hold on to your skin
mutual pupa


Prick spindle
wake up spindlefly

shuddering lifts
In the slenderfly’s balance


Nudefart, nudesmack!
clothograph mealy time

No sewage
but small stings
in sunglasses
Sees hummingbird drunken
in bunken


High traffic
Plane on plane
forced flight

Foot chain

Hold on to your skin
fasten the wing skin

Dragon situation unfolded
in a standstilldance

Remainland Airport

High clear september air
Urmountain of day


heads hurriedly southwards

We want to be remains here

Written by Aase Berg
Translated by Johannes Göransson
Published in TYPO 7

Photo by *Kicki* on flickr

Death by Kiting

Death by kiting, originally uploaded by nakedgremlin.

I love this love this love this. Here are a few thoughts from the photographer, David Chien:

I’m enveloped in Jacob Hashimoto’s Superabundant Atmosphere. The entire installation was made up of thousands of handmade kites hanging at different lengths from the ceiling.

In person, the piece was incredibly soothing and non-confrontational… unlike the photo — which actually makes it look more like an angry jelly fish wanting to suck my brains out.

The installation was created at the Rice Gallery here in Houston.

89 by Suzanne Gardinier

photo by nevil zaveri

The vase of tower fragments and his mother’s
last dress made ashes the wind blows loose

How the rain reaches into the winter ground
and warms and turns the grasses loose

Walk on your knees says the guard to his father
Give me a name and I’ll turn you loose

The harbormaster’s hands in the morning
on the knots the night tides tried to pull loose

The peony petals pressed in round bud
then unfolding Your shirt’s pink Then falling loose

How the years found what she held so tightly
and took it Prying her fingers loose

Left in the tree he passed every day
A man The tatters of his clothes flapping loose

The smallness of the barbarians’ airplanes
after the emperor’s airplanes let loose

How he sat coughing shards of his nation’s hatred
How she wanted to keep him and he said Turn me loose

The meadow paddock by the intransigent
sea broken open and the horses run loose

She’s remembering your way with her bindings
Yrs bridled How you tighten How you cut them loose

by Suzanne Gardinier
published in The Lavender Review

Spring and All by William Carlos Williams

By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast-a cold wind. Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees

All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines-

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches-

They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind-

Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined-
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf

But now the stark dignity of
entrance-Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted, they
grip down and begin to awaken

by William Carlos Williams

Dust is the Only Secret by Hadara Bar-Nadav

Tender father. Feather your face. Fingers laced with June. This waiting room white as always. July. You were patient. August. Body of wilted springs. Part tissue. Part decay. Paralysis. September, and the months drip. Patience. Pain. Infinite contain. Patient between 3 AM and Tuesday. Between sponge bath and morphine. Between Warfarin and vomiting. Current, rubber, hiccup, vex. The body lit up, needled, electric. You dream, half-life, half-lit. Machines chirp metallic lullabies. A neon line blinks across a black screen. Pulse like a promise green and green until the heart stops, sleeps.

by Hadara Bar-Nadav

published in Pool