White-Binder Poems  

By David Eide  


The worst thing was not war but its anticipation. And the histories
into the deep part of the future where there are survivors but little
adventure. Time wires fear into them and it passes without sound to 
                   the next generation.


There is a moon shadowing us in the depth of our unforgiving days; let 
                   us have her. She is real.



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