ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

sequence #
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6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20

  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 12

untitled
it's as the world is...

SONG
in the beak of one bird...

I STAND
before the tree...

PLUS A DAY
the eastern light...

ME STANDING STILL
by my feet infant trees...

10/8/03
trunk in the forest lit...

APPLE AND NEARFULL MOON
first bite of an apple...

SUNSET AUTUMN
the brilliant west...

UNEXPECTED LOVE
the cranes hovering...

STILL POOL
inked by falling leaves...

10/23/03
moody cemetery...

ACROSS IN
air...

IN MY NEW BLACK JACKET
beanfields shake their rattles...

OUR TRIP
it is like...

ALAN AFTER HE LEFT
missed out on certain sundays...

5:55
moon gone...

SOMETIME IN THE SEASON
a shower blowing headlines past...

THE HILL WAS BRIGHT GREEN
the crow was darker...

FOLLOWING
the road coming out of my mouth...

NEW SORROWS EVERY DAY
the birds flying through my head...

REAL REMEMBRANCE
the wind as the weather changes...

MY POEMS
I said and then paused...

12/1/03
branches bare their birds to the wind...

LONG FULL
the evening land...

AROUND
the way the world looked to him...

ON THE WORLD
this world is one...

FROM THIS BLUFF
trees having shed their leaves...

WOODS: ZONE
where loneliness finds itself...

THEFT OF A LINE FROM WRIGHT
when the sea comes back...

WILDNESS COMES BACK
The wild in America is contained, pushed back, owned by the people...

3/1/04
the road is quiet...

AUTOBIOGRAPHY VOL. III
in the desert of eternity...

FOR ONCE
setting a course...

YELLOW BIRCH RAVINE, HEMLOCK CLIFFS
go an hour south...

PRESERVED
how a house becomes a ruin...

INSTANT PRACTICE
I have failed...

TEACHER
breath of breaths...

UNTIL
this dream we are living...

OF THE NINETEEN THOUSAND
of the nineteen thousand days of my life so far...

UNDISTURBED
The night after the poetry reading I slept well but towards morning...

SHORT SPRING SHOPPING LIST
forsythia...

WAZOO,
out the:...

7/20/04
the dead wood's fruit...

ELEGY
told me two weeks before he died...

MY CAREER I
near the cascades leaping recklessly...

MY CAREER II
standing on the vast roof that evening...

UNAFFLICTED
summer somnia...

WHAT I NOTICED AND WHAT I THOUGHT
trees shook by wind...

PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE
so happy with me...

WHILE THE MASS EXTINCTIONS
went on there were...

LEFT
to have waited...

LESSON
the heart tilted over...

MODERN SINKHOLES
near the house...

EVERYWHERE
this time of year...

WEEKEND SCENE
walking in circles forwards...

LAST DAY OF SUMMER
a tree lighter by a leaf...

DRY
the natives mow their lawns...

FIRST LIGHT
the other great example...

THE BOLD AND THE PALE
the morning glories have surged up the trellises...

I'M HAPPY
when I say I'm happy...



PERSONAL APPEARANCE BY THE AUTHOR


I didn't shave or comb my hair this morning.  The long coat
I wear is very handsome, but all the buttons are missing, and
the lining is torn.  I go into a diner where I'm not known
and sit at the counter.  The waitress has clearly given a lot
of attention to her make-up, but the end result is similar to
embalming fluid.  I look down the counter and I see a guy who
reminds me vaguely of Bukowski sitting three stools away,
hunched over a cup of coffee.  He looks ill.  I pick up a dis-
tant aroma and wonder if it is him. "Fuckwad pansy," he says,
"how can you sit there and not shoot yourself?" I am terribly
terribly torn--on the one hand, I want to show that I instantly
understood his presence there, and his commentary on mine; on
the other, anything but rank flattery is likely to piss him off.
I sign to the waitress, who I now see looks like Marianne Moore.
Gesturing, I say quietly, "Give him a piece of pie.  On me."
She smiles, shaking her head, but goes off to get the pie any-
way.  I stare at my water glass.  What have I written that has
any worth?  Is there any way to persuade my public that I'm
for real?