No one sounds like Jesse Seldess. Nomen founds like Jesse Seldess, "That had a name called in the cold air / Regardless of the distance left rising further / Regardless the insistence left rising further." These and other floaty, torqued dependent clauses in Seldess' poetry perform a certain alchemy upon the toolkit we know about from Beckett and Stein, creating a completely new and yet at times disturbingly intimate experience of writing as within the body as location, where voice is sounded and re-sounded. Seldess' morphing echoes create a very strange experience that can evoke misspeaking or mishearing, as in the example of a mondegreen, or maybe at other moments it sounds like an improvisatory worrying of a blues line or the needle skipping on a record. But none of these analogies are ultimately sufficient to explain the unique sound of Seldess' work, or the way his language draws emphasis back to the act of listening as investigative, the way this relay between mind and ear hums with emergent potential. Please welcome Jesse Seldess.