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Evan White

THE TERRAIN IS A FUNCTION OF SOUND


I go mainly with strangers

before insight

They welcome me to excavate 

whole ravines of welcome



We are slung too low

for our gods

to find us eating lunch 

in the convincing dark

of pissed out forest fires

and hand drawn caves

Having arbitrarily hatched

early this morning

I make the strangest signs

one finds oneself


in caves I find

I am a cave

 

Between myself

and all the motifs and


megaphones aimed

at my sympathetic system

I become a louder song

Count my age

according to the decay

within of waves

 

*

 

A LIGHT FOR SOMEONE ELSE

 

 

I like a darkness I can fill up with what

lamps & sun & white curtains made in it

I heard the body is not really a fortress

but a remainder, I heard that & I agreed

that many things are good at appearing

under a light for someone else, a squirrel

& the hanging lines of its uncasual flight

I went listening in the night & said Yes,

I agree, if you have to go then go knowing

that a discerning face has seen you 

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