ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 3

BE DIGITAL
and believe what falls between your fingers...


DAYLIGHT FARM SUPPLY
wet lawns along the river...


ASKING FOR HELP
the one I want...


BYE BYE
to be commanded to sit down...


HEAVEN AND HELL
Understand me: I was the boy...


MY FACE IN THE MIRROR
what have you done...


MESSAGE
there is a line...


ALERT
televangelists and...


ANNOUNCEMENT
the modern boat is sinking!...


NO MISTAKES
understand me: I am the musician...


FINDING
my eyes if I should lose them...


LOVE POEM
sh! the poet is sleeping...


AFTER
the crowd without its beggar...


AGAINST IMMORTALITY
I don't want to live forever...


ADJUST
At last the flow of water has changed:...


PROTESTANT MEMORY
to keep myself from crying...


DOWNPOUR
the cats come in...


RELIGIOUS SCENE
on the wall of the steakhouse...


ON MY CARPET
he calls it his...


APPEAL
your honors...


SONG OF CONFESSION
my heart a poisoned well...


DRIVING
the black femur...


INTERSECTION
the corner of lost memory...


FIRST COLD DAY
in the back yard...


THEFT OF A LINE FROM SIMIC
dark night...


EXAMINATION
reading the heart's...


ABSURD
to say...


NEVER COMPLETE
bowing like a long-necked bird...


AS HE SHIFTS THEM
In the back pew of...


untitled
this poetry...


END OF THE EIGHTIES
the story takes...


12/31/91
outside in...


IN A CAR
we're in California...


MORNING INCIDENT
Getting up to let the cat in I felt myself growing weak,...


untitled
you wiped out...


4/3/92
a dream...


FAILING TO RECOGNIZE
even as it occurred...


ROCK PAINTING
the dance I did...


REFUSING TO UNDERSTAND
what comes from the dog's mouth...


NIGHTWORK
the secret government...


ODE TO THE FRIENDS OF POETRY
the friends of poetry...


LOCATION
rights and privileges...


SENSE OF AN ENDING
the last breath I...

LANDSCAPE: WEATHER BECOMING DOLPHY


evidence of high wind
everything that gets so far off the earth
is returned to it thrown down
new growth starts up
the bones of what did tower

/and the animals get their backs and rumps roughed up from
    bowing backward to the gale
/and the birds are made to skim an arm's length ahead of the
    storm
/and the people are built with extra bracing, like houses
    that expect the worst

and what's out there
the weather
is the same as what's
in every human heart
bad trouble and energy
enough to make it real

/but over there on the edge of the earth is a black wood with
    extra-human sounds in it
/and if the animals and the bent trees keep pointing in the
    right direction
/and if only the wind can reach that far and then blow through
    it and if

the right fingers appear
with their silver keys
unlocking faster and wider
than the wind can
slam shut the doors of
the wood, we'll finally hear

Dolphy before his head burst
playing how to live
between out and inward weather
and what's so beautiful about it
after all, what's so
important about someone
pulling melody after melody
out of his bountiful mouth