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...

REMINDER


Last summer I looked for the bridge whose enormous piers cast the
swirl of water in the river where Hobie Johnson drowned. Found a
road that dead-ended between the railroad and the river, a track
wandering through the brush to the muddy bank, a rope hanging over
the water. But the bridge was gone, piers down, and next day over
the river I saw that even the hole in the mountainside that the
bridge led to was sealed up. The guy who owned a pizza place near
where the whole mighty thing and its traffic of trains had once
existed had saved newspaper articles and pictures of it being built
and later being made to go away. In this part of the world, every-
thing vanishes without a trace, and then the without-a-trace is
forgotten. Plug a hole, let the frail paper yellow, words blur,
the whole thing gradually crumbles. True pain and scandal once
safely in the past, we can establish some kind of tourist zone
nearby. Put the graveyard on the hill so the dead get the best
view of the whole thing, while mourners are too distracted by grief
to notice. Maybe some piece of Hobie broke off, changed form,
drifted down the river system--Ohio in its giant crease between
states, juncture with the Mississippi, Mississippi down to the
sea--experiencing the whole phenomenon of half a continent empty-
ing itself of rain, dirt, trash, the question of origins forgotten,
that piece of Hobie lost forever in the Gulf.