Note from the Editors

 

   SEEING RED 

    ENDU(RED) ADMI(RED)
    DESI(RED) WONDE(RED)
    RUMO(RED) ADO(RED)
    ENAMO(RED) INSPI(RED)
    DISCOVE(RED) SAC(RED)
    HUNGE(RED) WONDE(RED)
    EXPLO(RED) FEATU(RED)
    AUTHO(RED) SEA(RED)
    DA(RED) UNCENSO(RED)
    SOA(RED) ADVENTU(RED)

 

 

    


Designed by:
SiteGround web hosting Joomla Templates
PDF Print E-mail

I Know What You’re Made Of


Bristling existence. Like weeds, which smell good when cut. And contain sparks, are crowned with them in summer. Or that bird says the cotton of you, which pulled out becomes part of its nest. And the bird says I used to be a crow, I thought about the choice of such boxes and I stopped being a crow, and saying this makes you. You being yourself, made out of birdspeech, unpack joy all the time, without even knowing it, and you hop up and down without knowing it, you do your little flutters just like crows do before they make more crows. Imprecise stitchery. What it means to be alive with you. To be related by you or with you, to you. 


Hugh Behm-Steinberg’s the author of Shy Green Fields (No Tell Books) and The Opposite of Work (JackLeg Press). He teaches writing at California College of the Arts, where he edits the journal Eleven Eleven.


next            table of content