H u g h B e h m - S t e i n b e r g

an end is the towards to

The snakes refuse to convulse the dust will not oh how
laughing into their mouths they see you they see you
they see you they see you: you don’t know yet all the

things they see when they look at you. All your treasures the
snowy field. Facing chairs in your tomb. Who gets to have one
of those, instead of a mailbox where nobody delivers any mail?

Materials or a refusal to stay or save you, the routine of
saving you from telling your story to who listens to you.
Or lesser transparencies when you’re haunting you call it

so into being, eight kinds of cherries on your slot machine.


Meadow lushness don’t have enough time to. Don’t
envy in your. Over and over. Pragmatic not counterfeit
but so vicarious not in pieces then but radiant, light

wasting they say light is never wasted but you can’t
save it you have to give it away, you should be like that,
be a person like that, a shining person.

If there are secrets they renew and become mysterious
again, or once more the clouds rain out and the hand is
part of this; there’s light on it so you can see it working.

When you say the same thing again you never repeat.


Light in your face time is no more, only the skipping

moments, a little aware of when reaching do all the work.
Then not skipping, budding. A chunk of redwood in the
laundry room before it becomes a table

the milk pours out upon. Say to you, wish to say to you,
kicked a rally on blow your darkness down 1234 blurs
the more become sequential. Greater lesser transparencies

who is obsessed with time these days there’s so much to
worry about all that there your brightness overloaded
blur it all, just blur it all, blur everything.