Departures
by Dave Shortt
from gate x where melting snow lines the roads, the distant hills are boarding, white areas splotch eras of childhood & ice ages, leaky brakes fly into 'your whole life passing before your eyes' reaching a Y in the road where one of the directions is endless: pausing there where astral fields signal from the gullet of the landscape where loved ones were swallowed tumorous & humorous forces linger coincidentally in residues of chance & choice reverberating, motivated to continue on to where the heart breaks again into its options the same sky astronauts examine for rays of fate & light's restive homelands is breached by clouds that tried following, trailed by their vegetation as far as passes named after memories where water begins flowing in opposite directions the move stretches the whole place around the world a few times till it snaps before it's pawned or pocketed getting hung up like a piece of lint on the market a house hunches to call up the last secrets offered by its sedentary dormers, having shaped a social victory of civilization by its crafted doors its hammered walls obscuring quivering seas of teepees families divert the wrong questions (arising from their feasts in warning ) into private bedrooms where love is starting all over victims evolve beyond loneliness unloading themselves in the presence of another; their gestures hold weightless gifts moving back & forth between them like sunrises & sunsets sunsets & sunrises beginning to change into each other please remember to learn something from the experience Arjuna & Sati, where are you now? dreamy, like a couple of songs playing over the radio waves 'kissing & dissing while crossing the Mississippi' not missing this not missing that
In the thickened weather of Surrealism the cathedral is across the street.
– Barbara Guest
Engineers
by Hanz Olson
Water and a kilt of hard days in the sun struck by silence but okay here, taking flight as another poem. Bordered by mountains, by the stunning fragments of a morning sketching out the lines of our alters. A thought permeates, conceives a past, a bright train bound by rooftops. The sound of its rush pulls us in for a hug, our arms the absence of friction. In them lies the lattice work of weightless spellings cast on a frontier the specs of which offer constant energy only words can keep in folds.
Our Boys Lost At Sea
by John Stickney
There is no getting off here. The ants ate the planks of the boat. The shore was so far away, the security level was set at green. No one sees you adrift. All eyes are at the museum.
Overbite
by John Stickney
Two rabbits fall in love with a snake.
Who knew snakes teeth?
Such beautiful, beautiful teeth!
Do you have a wild dark hidden in a drawer kind of experimental poem I can put with your poems I’m going to use? I’d like to have from all poets in anthology one wild BAD poem. So send.
– Gregory Corso, in a letter to Paul Blackburn (1958)
Dave Shortt is a long-time writer from the USA whose work has appeared over the years in a number of online and print literary-type venues, most recently Unlikely Stories Mark V, Mystic Owl, Coffin Bell and Clockwise Cat.
Hanz Olson occasionally catches sparks that infuse the few poems he writes. These days his poems are usually written in Casper, Wyoming where he works as a librarian and archivist. It is often through this lens of operation that he settles on ideas, images, and themes for poetry. He first started submitting to Uut when he was living in Madison, Wisconsin.
John Stickney is a poet/writer originally from Cleveland, Ohio. His poems have appeared in Oddball Magazine. He is a fan of George Hitchcock and was once almost published in Kayak magazine.
Art: "Pneumosofia" by Vesperalia
Uut publishes unsolicited poetry, and translations of poetry, and surrealist art collages. See Submit for details.