The land is full of places;
every square millimeter is a place;
and every billionth of such is a place,
and it doesn't end there;
it doesn't end

But surely it feels good
to hear about Västra Götaland
and the entire North Northbothnia!

The body, that jester,
is also a collective term
for something trying to be you,
but is an unpredictable swarm

No wonder one feels fragmented!

Threats & Violence
are just gusts in a storm that never begins or ends

Membership details and media reports
are like ear canal eczema,
and war is a desperately clumsy performance
of Das wohltemperierte Clavier
on a gritty gravel organ

A horse clatters in its echo down the hill
on a pale spring evening,
but the lion's share of all that happens
fits
in the sound of sand & pebbles poured
over upside-down gingerbread tin lids
in old science fiction literature
that neither Robert A. Heinlein nor Olaf Stapledon wrote;
never nominated for the Luigi Russolo Award

Hearing impairments stand all-eared in bird droppings
inside an old barn's nephropathia epidemic-ridden dust storage,
daylight seeping quantum-problematic
through the sparse cracks in the boards

I sustain an impossible situation
in graphene-thin equilibrism
by keeping the sky airy in one direction,
and then in another,
a thousand kilometers away,
connected via a rickety railway
and a row of malodorous, creaky, unenlightened beast transports

How long can one live
in the final photograph of August Strindberg
without revealing oneself?

Courtesy gets you nowhere