ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

sequence #
1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20

  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 17

THE PROMISE
We live without distinction, keeping up...

RESTATEMENT
the stream breaking on the rocks...

GO TO LEONARD SPRINGS
walk past the gush and then...

WINGED HOUR
swallows' multiple flights...

PARALLEL LIVES
one world...

I MEAN
the clocks do not tire of themselves...

DRAWN ON
now that the shadow deepens...

TO ERIC
You appeal often to Reason as if...

untitled
the stone says...

8/25/09
it was hot like this...

SUMMER IS ENDING
the evenings draw off together...

DOUBLES
there are two rocks in my woods...

9/8/09
towers and arms of the wind farm...

GHOST
what is a ghost?...

A STORY OF COMING TO AND LEAVING THIS PLACE
the crossing is marked by the feet...

untitled
when we leave...

TIMES OF SUN AND CLOUDS
morning half full of sun...

KEEPING A PIECE OF BLUE
in this wind the trees throw...

THEFT OF LINES FROM SPICER AND BOBROWSKI
the river flowing in curves...

10/12/09
moon...

AUTOBIOGRAPHY VOL. IV
we had been told many things...

OH IT'S YOU
pardon me...

BLOWING IN
trees shaking their heads in the wind...

untitled
one's thin shadow...

GRIEVERS AND GLEANERS
the grievers and the gleaners...

11/1/09
last night's moon so full...

VARIATION ON A THEME
well after midnight...

LOOKING AT A FLY
how far back to our common ancestor?...

BUILT WELL
the temples...

WHERE WE MAKE OUR HOMES
the light turns its edge towards us...

LISTEN LEARN
the flames flying...

THE GODS
when the gods remember...

ROUTINE
Every morning, coming out of sleep into ...

SHAKING THE MIRROR
I hold the mirror with both hands...

I WROTE A POEM
that's enough for one week...

BLACKWING CROW
feet tight around the branch...

ECHO
blackwing crow...

WINTER CROWS HOUSE SILENCE
winter gnawing on bones...

IDEA FOR A POEM
as it has overtaken us...

THEFT OF A LINE FROM WHITMAN: THIS WINTER
five thousand games of solitaire...

COMMENTARY
the spider is history...

WHERE IT GOES
west of the west...

ONE BY ONE
inamorata...

untitled
through all the storms as light fell to halflight...

HE TOLD ME
it won't hurt you...

THE ORDER OF THINGS
last night's flood gone...

ALL SOLITUDES ARE THE SAME
All the solitudes. Each keeps to ...

STONECRUSHER
I went back to the roads I grew up on and walked daily...

RELATIONSHIP
oh words...

TAKE STEPS
steps...

MEANS
what means love...

THE SPILL
we can talk about the spill...

THIS IS THE EIGHTH ATTEMPT
no help coming from my former self...

MUCH
the weight I had at five...

SLEEPING IN THE RAIN
drawing a circle...

INSIDE
a craving in our hands...

TIME
back and forth back and forth...

SO FAR AS I CAN AGAIN
the trees at night stretch out...

NAPPER'S MOTTO
every action requires strength...

AUTOBIOGRAPHY VOL. V
I disappeared...

8/10/10
a dry touch strokes the land...

IT WILL WAKE
the drunken species...

IMPERFECT POEM

I have nothing to say to you now
and nowhere to go to say it
I say nothing to you in my living room
and it's not right so I stand on the porch
and say nothing but the cows are there
listening so it doesn't seem like nothing
so I drive to town and walk down Kirkwood
saying nothing and it all feels wrong and
I'm out of place out of any place to walk
or stand or sit or lie down in peace
and it's like a death or the loss
of some essential organ without which
I don't see or hear and I can't feel my legs
and therefore I don't believe in the ground
which leaves me floating legless headless
bodiless anywhere everywhere this
must be what it's like to exist
in a world of no objects only ideas
that cannot be altered
the Platonic Heaven
goddamn you Plato you know
nothing about what it takes to be
in my life and be happy it takes
real flawed objects and people who can
be taken to represent nothing higher
or better or more perfect than themselves