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: 4

ABOUT TO SIT DOWN
Stepping out the back door...

KISS HIS EAR
Brown corn bends as...

STALLING OUT
Just by getting enough distance...

PAGE ZERO
my mind's blank wall...

PARTING
words just off...

CRICKETS HESITATE
the night...

FROM AND TO
my first eternity...

IN THIS LITTLE POEM OR WORLD
I mislaid my travel plans the map...

FIELD GUIDE
indigo bunting no words...

untitled
I knew...

I STAY UP LATE
studying to live...

POEM OF EXPOSURE
the tender outcry...

untitled
underground I'll turn to you...

THEFT OF A LINE FROM TATE
I consider it a citizen's duty...

STANDING STILL IN
november...

HOW I TRAPPED THE MURDERER
I left out the part...

PROVERB
he who sleeps a false sleep...

A SUNDAY NIGHT SERMON FOR DAVID BAKER
The first step is to listen,...

I AM PART BUZZARD
my grandmother was a buzzard...

DEAR FUCKHEADS
my head hurts...

TILL IT THAWS
1....

RESOLUTION
I am so glad...

EVENING POEM
in the cellar...

DISTURBANCE
the world is alive...

FLIGHT
the gamblers...

VISIT
Buying toys, the one remaining copy...

STORM
in trouble again...

JUST AFTER DAWN
We sat among the cattle and he asked me ...

INTERPRETATION
Hour begets hour, dream begets dream,...

THE BUZZARD SPEAKS
I am proud...

INTERRUPTION
not knowing what to say...

JOSEPH'S POEM
if you wish to own a fear...

DIS-ORDER
of course...

BLUE MILLION
in the house dark...

untitled
blank pages spit their silence...

BROKEN POEM
life goes through...

AUTOBIOGRAPHY VOL. II
the day before my birth...

MARENGO
the pressure of seasons...

TODAY
awoke in the forest...

DESIRE


The circumference of the earth now widened enormously, a new
surface extent of it up in the air, miles high: metal shards,
remains of missions. The operations up there, civilization's
last expanse, a net to catch wealth, the gleam of coin coming
off the vessels flying, and the reach of knowledge stretched
on the leap, desire projected out of us; our greatest expense,
desire, this rage of having, I know it well, it has torn us
together. Looked down at my shoes, thinking how can I say 
this to him? What words? Or is it betrayal even to speak it?
And the shoes themselves don't look that good--scuffed, muddied.
That day walking through the show of Spring. Hand in hand. No
one else there. That damp valley, streams tumbling out of caves,
unrivaled existence. As if the caves pour a continuous life 
into the world, I said, as if it pours into and out of us in
a green race of forever.