White-Binder Poems  

You ask what the poet is.
"He is everything.
He is nothing but he wants everything
and stands under the night sky
to speak to the anonymous brothers of the spacial deep.

He sees the root on an unarmed planet
and imagines a full flourishing of plants and animals.
They makes their way down a dense underbelly;
make sounds to the strange sun.

"Is it blue?" It is  a mindless thought that breathes fire.

So for worlds we know the poet is nothing, a surd,
a useless clown but in the vast worlds we do not know

He is everything.

He enters the prophet at the moment he sees the god 

He enters the blazing waves of the sun
and sees the face of everyone; he knows them all.

They are a brilliant cascade of thoughts
and lay embedded with smiles on the surface.