ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 9

SPECULATION
the possession of life...

TO COUNT FOR WHAT
eyes scrape the borderland of no...

WHERE I AM/HAVE BEEN
our decisions are so small...

VIEW OF EARTH FROM MY HOUSE
stars out a light breeze...

MY FIRST LANGUAGE
alive in this time...

10/20/97
steadily consuming the purple-sweetness...

POSTCARD
I write to you from...

HERE
the beast and the waves...

LYRIC
moving through the dark...

APPLICATION
please send more poems...

IN THE DARK
friends the dark as much as you...

FOOTNOTE TO IN THE DARK
those who disappeared while still alive...

NOVEMBER
cold weather settles me...

WITHOUT CLOTHES
the right temperature for singing...

TO THE ASIAN MARKETS
we can be proud of our success...

3/1/98
the sunday walk a path...

REFUSAL TO MAKE MUSIC
I have lost my ears the silence is so large in them...

WEDNESDAY MORNING
with the sudden cold...

MY WINDOW
wonderful day...

untitled
sun flees we pursue...

MY WISHES
steady hand...

ON HIS WORK
bright from the roots...

THE LAST TIME I WAS AT YOUR HOUSE
while I snorted and rolled over...

untitled
sun's careful stroking breaks the frost...

untitled
there were some the wind dried some...

untitled
sun slant the wind dies moist...

FOLLOWING
the laws of migration over the ground...

HOW IT HAS BEEN
half dark or near dark...

THE TASK
There is a god or goddess for first ...

THINGS THAT ARE AND ARE NOT POEMS
things that kill us...

FRAGMENT
Doesn't. And complies again, removes the robe, there is the soft...

DREAMED OF MY EX-WIFE
We were selling a house back to the couple we had bought it from....

GRUMBLE
no other life has been given me...

11/1/98
the world sleeps...

THEFT OF A LINE FROM LALIC
a weight of fire brought home...

untitled
in another dream a pickled man...

AFTER HOURS
red flare west through the trees...

WHERE I STAND WITH HIM
a gift of storms bursts open...

DANCE OF LOVE
I couldn't touch the dancers' radiance...

DECEIVED MYSELF THINKING
of a poetry only...

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