ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 2

12/20/89
Armor and...


PERSONAL APPEARANCE BY THE AUTHOR
I didn't shave or comb my hair this morning. The long coat...


untitled
aching a little...


DAYS BEFORE
the killer's mother is coming...


NIGHT CREATURES
under the devious arch of the night...


AUTOBIOGRAPHY
first I died...


untitled
When I lift my hands do not pull back,...


untitled
Here you are beside me...


untitled
you were leaping from roof to roof...


CONVERSATIONS
arguing about suicide...


I SAW
things...


untitled
putting the beach out...


WRITING ON A MIRROR
my pen is red it sinks into my hand...


PEARL STREET
I love him singing...


I TRY BUT
you won't leave me alone...


untitled
the better I did...


LAMENT
Is now the time to praise...


I COULD FALL OVER
Always losing patience with...


11 ARGUMENTS
I insist on the rightness of my thoughts....


POEM ENDING WITH MY NAME
I watch TV....


untitled
spring loosens up her veins...


AN AFTERNOON
A girl and a boy were walking through a forest of apple...


THE NEW REPUBLIC
a conspiracy against time...


BELIEVING IN A HIDDEN ENEMY
I went up the stairs in the dark....


THOUGHT
Who's behind...


untitled
I will marry my blear eye to a blind eye...


I SUBMIT TO THE DOCTORS
with starved breath...


SUGGESTION
Let the poets die...


WALK WITH FLOWERS
chamomile with their secret of sleep...


FIVE SEASONS
King Curtis blows his...


SKETCH
In the dark the boy...


ON THE OTHER HAND
now that I'm dying...


ON ONE HAND
the mark a cat's claw...


ANOTHER OCTOBER: McCORMICK'S CREEK
upstream stone blocks back the water up...


COMING CLEAN (WITHOUT LOVE)
Cows bellering on their feet....


WAITING FOR THE EARTHQUAKE
the dead who can...


ME AND MY BIRD
The water is round...


SENTENCE
A restaurant where you are left alone...


MYTH
Everyone is shouting...


RETURNING THANKS AFTER EATING
I know I'm out...


SEQUENCE OF DESIRE
wanting to stop smoking...


HOME JOURNAL
I forget...


HERE BEGINS THE POEM OF MY LEFT HAND
My left hand is a child...


HE SAID
everything mastered him...


BRIGHT METAL FRAIL REED
my breath loves to narrow itself...


DEVOTION
the moan bird is soaring...


NOCTURNE
I am waiting...


SCHOOL
I love him in his smelly pants...


1/14/91
Starting the blood...


REPORT
when I say...


TWO SENTENCES
And as for the rest of it: no, I don't believe we should ever...


CHARACTERISTICS OF A DOOR
with a thumbtack for an eye...


DESTINATION
after it is long since dark...


NEW BREATH IN ME
you are clouds...


THE UNLOVED BELOVED
"The Unloved Beloved" is written by the crazy son of the man...


AGAINST REPRISALS
a well cut jacket of despair...

Listen!


VISITING T.C. STEELE'S HOUSE IN THE RAIN


I.

the trees have had time
to approach the painter's house
and grow large
they have taken away his view
but so has death
and death was never cut down
in his time or ours

his wife's gardens have been copied
by the employees of the state
and under this dull sky
they make earth brighter than heaven

on a rock in one of them
I saw a garter snake looking at me
and wishing I would go
so the frogs would come out


II.

the studio sits just off the peak of the hill
looking like a barn under its hip roof

they let the varnish on the paintings dull
but keep the dust off his brushes

gift shop in the back his work on the walls
examples of the two hands he worked with

a smooth hand for flattering sitters
a rough hand for pleasing himself

one hand plus the other equalled happiness
one made a living (guess which)

one showed the long vistas he lived among
and nearer by the scrubbiness and brilliance

living out in the country brings home to you
his chickens posed for him under the trees

morning light slant on the pecked-bare dirt
also the oak still there a hundred years later

the old woman my guide asks how I make my living
by listening to troubles I say

thinking of my own just now thank god not great
leaving I drop five dollars in the donation box

and put up the hood on my raincoat so
I am equal to the rain ready to go for a walk


III.

from the cabin below the house
I follow the trail of silences
whose name is true
the streams it crosses
make a little noise
but between one and the other
a different silence each time

up the hill again panting
stopping for breath I see
a doe grazing on the grass
covering the family graves
she runs from smelling me