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: 6

untitled
the first page is spoiled...

WHAT FUN IS THIS
the best-tied shoes and most...

POEM BEGINNING WITH MY NAME
Eric...

SELF PORTRAIT
I am not a poet...

THE MOON'S WHITE BODY
it costs everything...

STOP DON'T DO IT
I am caught on the scaffold...

THEY SAID
I address my prayers to...

STOOD TO SPEAK IN CONFUSION
the eye dividing itself in thirds...

ALL THE NURSING IN THE WORLD
fellow citizens I speak to you of health...

YOUTH OF AMERICA
sex now is not the sex it was...

untitled
I never tell you the truth...

REM
Due to neglect of the most important parts of sleep, all the...

WAKING
their eyes all...

CURIOSITY
the president of the future...

THEN
your rain falls...

EXAMINATION
Called to death's home town to account...

WHAT TO DO
make maps...

HOUSEHOLD
my human soul...

ONE SHELF OF MANY
a book about murdering...

ON THE EIGHTH DAY
God made puddles...

WHAT HE BUILT AND HOW IT WORKED
on a flat surface tilted towards...

REQUEST
I want a stone above me...

APRIL
the horizon is only the horizon...

I AM
whose shadow am I...

untitled
in the cave of my eye...

untitled
a difference...

untitled
it's not possible...

HEEDING
press my wrist to my ear...

THEFT OF LINES FROM ELIADE, ANGLETON, STOKER, AND ROTHENBERG
Mother of Sleep...

WHAT DID I NOTICE ABOUT TODAY
leaves mostly down...

GIFT
here is a stone...

IN INDIANA
dogwood holds out its hands palms upward...

HERE WE ARE
the nuthatches land on my porch...

MAIN THEMES
consciousness of loss...

LOVELINESS OF DISTANCE
some nights...

GOD MY WITNESS
open hearted...

SIGH
once gone...

untitled
so many things...

THE USUAL
a phone call rouses me...

CHECK UP
the noble doctors...

YESTERDAY
one comes to my door...

DIAGNOSIS
needs will need and again will need...

WORKING ON
my biography...

MISTAKEN
have come to understand...

HERE/NOT HERE
a bit of ice on things...

untitled
strip of gold colored ribbon...

BUSY
making my dust...

PROPOSITIONS
white hours...

NIGHT, THAT MAKES US SEE
what enters as a blow on the shoulders...

LIFE WITHOUT IDOLS
like any protestant...

THANK YOU NOTE
the heavy clouds...

I WRITE
to tell you how...

NOTHING WASTED
Trial and disillusionment, the stone's...

THROUGH THIS BEFORE
shoulders bent...

POINT OF VIEW
wind world...

untitled
my pulse in...

TRANSLATION
the eye that...

OCCUPIED
all night erasing...

THE RECOGNITION
bird that unspeaks itself...

REMEMBER WRITERS AND READERS
toward the last...

3x5 SNAPSHOT

Five Buzzards on the lawn, all related to me. The black clothing
of the one in the middle hides all but her inscrutable face. 
Salome. Of the men, one is Doc, one is Alpha, one is John, one 
is Moses, who made popcorn for his people on the square in 
Wakarusa every Saturday. The town band playing, farmers selling 
from their wagons, children running screaming to and from the 
store with the soda fountain in back. It is full summer. A tree 
massy with leaves towers behind them, a dirt road runs nearby 
with more trees behind it thick enough to close off the horizon. 
The grass is worn where they stand, and there is a low white 
railing marking the edge of something--a parking area? a field 
where chldren play? a lot deeded to a church for a graveyard? It 
is a summer day. The weather is fine. They have survived one 
century and stand sturdily in the next. They are there on 
another day of the absence of those many who were old when they 
were young and tried to explain the exact mix of sternness and 
gentleness necessary for life. It is only a photograph, not 
reality, the present moment. But they know that, photography or 
not, any moment of the moments we've had can come back, that 
they all continue just because they once were, even if the 
snapshot is lost, the people long gone, no one to remember, no 
story to tell.