On your kindness oh is to be entered upon; take
Fridays off. Speak of facts they will renew. If you
drag some it won’t hurt. An audience for your spine
all that flicks. A florist’s belief the poison can
always come out. It’s consciousness, it stalls
you back up to give it more space leave it alone
it will round, don’t be the one all the time talking
about. The seals are cool how you try tugging on
the pipes, the pipes, the pipes with bay laurel roots
tapping into areas: fostering the hours: you divide into.
Dead sons inhabit living sons they explain
signing or, or husked each other sparking a lot,
your sparking lot, your shining satellite.
Towards rebirth ok all about it now unsettle you.
Each task uphills. Brown hair sky lucky lucky
salvaging lift from it certainly worth loving.
Be swept, drawing. A happiness, changing
your name to a heatwave, still ripening one
sentence is a very long sentence only that that
that that what is altered will not be unbalanced.
Rising upon thermals outcalling. To drown in whatness.
Masks are part of your face you never get to the present.
Studying, run out of marks because. Keep it from getting
closer. All sorts of. Head full of fathers, your heavy lids
on the lightest jars. The house stays asleep it’s so much
less wary it already knows what will happen. One atop
of another, give them some. Or muzzle show you show
you show you their muzzle so you’re good. The natives
of the moon build houses out of soft gray stones: you
place your head where it shouldn’t go. All things have to.
You want an emperor, you say he’d be so good for you.
You’d give him all your crickets, you’d watch them hop
around in his sleeves as he gives his speeches.
Deeper into the interior you too can go because you
know it’s empty space, you’ve decided that. You’ve
taken so many the borders wobble as if they were made
of hopping beings. Overhead some birds they’re hungry;
the suit’s cloudy, realistic, there is so much failure inside
the words that get used for farflung corners and all the
uncoverings, he won’t even feed them, he makes you do that.
Hugh Behm-Steinberg: I’m the author of Shy Green Fields (No Tell Books) and The Opposite of Work (JackLeg Press), as well as three Dusie chapbooks: Sorcery, Good Morning! and The Sound of Music. Poems from an end is the towards to have appeared in or are forthcoming in such places as Otoliths, Moss Trill, Under a Warm Green Linden, E-Ratio and Word/forWord, among others. I'm a steward in the Adjunct Faculty Union at California College of the Arts in San Francisco, where for ten years I edited the journal Eleven Eleven.