The whiteness descended from up North
But this whiteness is salt not snow
Earth laid himself out like an old mattress
fucked on and repeatedly left in the rain
then dried out—ten years of drought or more—
then fucked again
(excerpt from “The Whiteness”)
Dominic Eichler's poems are deeply perceptive. Filled with an acute sense of the transient, they capture precious moments—moments that are potentially better let go of. With their succinct melancholic tone, these moments come across as subtle, yet insistent attacks on the way hangovers, delusion, and pleasure are processed. Eichler's poems are ultimately suggestive of both real places and people, and the magical frailty that inhabits them.
With illustrations by Nairy Baghramian, Julian Göthe, Shahryar Nashat, Henrik Olesen, Danh Vo
