ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 3
8/27/89
my notebook is heavy
weight of ink bearing it down
my wrists swell with a dark
certainty all afternoon a tractor
circles the house cutting the pasture
its buzz is fearless the driver
does not pause I am exhausted
the floor is littered with paper
I can never come apart and stop
the line I pursue on the page
twists in front of me it comes
out of my wrist I can feel
the pull of it against my ribs
I can feel my ribs open and close
like great wings like grass
parted by the blade of the wind