(a grid works to blank the mind)

For Agnes Martin


wind through steel turbines
a grid works to blank the mind
ate three pigeons raw

deserts have hinges
lizards fill the empty space
sand is everywhere

learned to speak in chert
sound takes shape as a fiction
steeper blackbirds treed

creeks move by dreaming
etchings mark its verbal past
rockface to hubcap


woke up inside out
versioned kaleidoscopic 
oozed on down the drive
worn gods are supple
just saw a man eat three birds
nothing finds its edge

i heard all over
the drone here made manifest
body as the ear

felt like a blanket
carried darker in the knees
one wrong note we’re gone

Jeffrey Little | On the Beauty of Unlaid Eggs
Contents | Mudlark No. 77 (2024)