White-Binder Poems  

By David Eide  

From a distance it is a blackness
From a distance it is a rock
And here in the non-distance there is 
           nothing; everything.

We read everything through a desire
beauty coaxes a desire
sirens along the earth shore bring us up

Space, the fierce emptiness we always expected,
light, a space that burns a hole through the
         rugged Andes Mountains.

A city, ancient and empty, stands mute
    in the crevice of an old hand.

What goes into the center?
What fills the center up?

There's a little politics, a little love, and some
treachery and the mind comes out with something.

A man who talks.
The narrator that is the thrown out in desperation;
sent out among a litany of misdeeds and petty
heroism down in the dark it all makes.



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