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: 8

REVEALED BY SPLITTING
my face is of oak...


12/14/96
a voice saying...


MAKING SENSE ON A SNOWY MORNING
my woods fill up with snow...


POINT AT WHICH
the speaking of the heart...


MY HUNGER
I have turned my stones...


MIDNIGHT
midnight your moonlight...


12/23/96
after the singing...


untitled
walk out Eric...


EGYPTIAN
the words which took...


ING
lean sleep...


IN MEMORIAM F.B.
his house of lead...


HOW TO GET THERE
go till the snow falls...


PLAN:
throw four stones...


MY STRUGGLE WITH MY WEIGHT
Mornings around here there is so much fog in the trees...


1/2/97
strange life with...


DARING ABSENCE
the seeing blind man...


FACE THE NATION
1. the fine line in my tranquility...


FOUR BY FOUR
objects I have turned...


untitled
in the waste of sky...


GOOD AND ILL FORTUNE
go through me...


1/17/97
the snow blows the road is battered...


CRITICISM OF SHOVELLING
my stubborn back keeps working...


POET'S DILEMMA
words running up and down...


REQUIREMENT
am I empty yet...


I WROTE THIS WHILE THINKING ABOUT WRITING IT (TITLE LAST)
warm air makes the snow soften...


POEM AS IT HAPPENS
rain gets to fill the spaces used...


EYES AND EARS
eyes very involved in silence...


PROSE POEM ON THE BAKERS (NO COMMAS)
I always see the bakers when I am in a hurry walking past the door...


HELP MIDWINTER
no work snow flies like doves...


THEFT OF LINES FROM THE GNOSTICS
alone with my name...


IF JORDAN FLOODS
season of rising...


COMET AND SAINTS
now don't for-...


THE ARGUMENT
A burning house invites the comet in for a meal. The conver-...


FOOL'S DAY
it was my voice...


SIXTEEN LINES
reading a life...


OUT OF RESPECT
Albert Ayler's jukebox...


AGAIN
what the river of sound delivers...


ASHLAND
all I have buried...


4/27/97
the light rain...


untitled
you want me to stay...


I HEAR
your voice...


THE CLASSIC OF STONE
I had some...


JUST WAIT
too hot to eat the late hours...


NEO WHAT
just got through...


7/6/97
the dusk cool breeze...


KNOWN BY WHAT
deceived by everything...


STOLEN
a voice speaks...


WELCOME TRASH HAULERS
our miles of caves where...


TOO HOT
no rain to satisfy...


THEFT OF LINES FROM THE GNOSTICS AND KAUFMAN
one of rock, one of slime,...


COME ON
in your hand...


GUIDE FROM THE PERPLEXED
this is to let you know...


PRAYER THAT FELL THROUGH MY HANDS
did I understand what I said...


GOOF OFF
it was the ordinary hour...


PRACTICES
juxtaposed thoughts from separate days...


OUR DAYS
my brother in the tree...

EXAMINATION


Called to death's home town to account for the white hairs in
my beard, I take note of the orchards in blossom, the full,
even stands of wheat, and the one star that broke off from the
others to take its place in the netherworld.  It is always
twilight or just dawning here, the star is alone in a sky of
red and deep violet spread like a tent close above.

A crowd has gathered at the edge of the hayfield where the dark
woods begins.  They examine my face thoroughly.  My defense
claims their sky has too few lights, and the one that is there
is cut off from contact with its brothers and sisters.  A deep
sigh of sympathy runs around the mob. The stars from the
other world, it is said on my behalf, have placed the gleams
of white (their jewels, their eyes, their memories) to be
carried in my beard as a message, knowing I would be called to
account and could show my face to the loneliness of the under-
horizon with its solitary star.  I have nothing to do with this,
so the argument runs, and in fact might prefer a black beard or
a red beard or no beard at all.