Jeff Little

Jeffrey Little (dadathin@aol.com) reports he's moved back east after freezing

for 4 1/2 years in minnesota, and that his book, The Hotel Sterno (Spout

Press) is due out sometime this year.

pink

then i remembered what my uncle pink used

to mutter about his trees, about how he

could tell me stories that would turn

my brain into dish water & fill the streets

w/hats the crazy likes of which i'd never seen

syllogism for agnes martin

1.

all the trees they dashed indoors to be alone w/their turbans.

2.

i haven't seen that much hair in years.

3.

texas like an inverted ceramic saltine - texas, stretched out before me.

ode to serge chaloff

i want to lie down in the reeds by a muddy creek bed

w/a pack of jujubes & a staple gun & build for myself

a universe truly capable of grace, i want to saddle up

my team of sled dogs & ramble through trailer parks

as lovely as a yellow edsel filled w/african bees, what

i want is that sound - that sound of the air - that sound

of the air as he shapes it into the softest hammer ever

to crush bricks into bloom. it's this weather, so round

& runny & every egg i've ever eaten except i can hear

it somehow before it begins, low & swimming around

inside my spine like my reptilian dread about crossing

the valley of hair. there's a color i haven't seen since

i was nine years old & it's tied up w/the eschatology

of cheese, tied up w/my crawling on my stomach over

an unemployed cornfield disguised as a cloud, as if i'd

found in that vibrato the canals i never found on foot.