ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 3

BE DIGITAL
and believe what falls between your fingers...


DAYLIGHT FARM SUPPLY
wet lawns along the river...


ASKING FOR HELP
the one I want...


BYE BYE
to be commanded to sit down...


HEAVEN AND HELL
Understand me: I was the boy...


MY FACE IN THE MIRROR
what have you done...


MESSAGE
there is a line...


ALERT
televangelists and...


ANNOUNCEMENT
the modern boat is sinking!...


NO MISTAKES
understand me: I am the musician...


FINDING
my eyes if I should lose them...


LOVE POEM
sh! the poet is sleeping...


AFTER
the crowd without its beggar...


AGAINST IMMORTALITY
I don't want to live forever...


ADJUST
At last the flow of water has changed:...


PROTESTANT MEMORY
to keep myself from crying...


DOWNPOUR
the cats come in...


RELIGIOUS SCENE
on the wall of the steakhouse...


ON MY CARPET
he calls it his...


APPEAL
your honors...


SONG OF CONFESSION
my heart a poisoned well...


DRIVING
the black femur...


INTERSECTION
the corner of lost memory...


FIRST COLD DAY
in the back yard...


THEFT OF A LINE FROM SIMIC
dark night...


EXAMINATION
reading the heart's...


ABSURD
to say...


NEVER COMPLETE
bowing like a long-necked bird...


AS HE SHIFTS THEM
In the back pew of...


untitled
this poetry...


END OF THE EIGHTIES
the story takes...


12/31/91
outside in...


IN A CAR
we're in California...


MORNING INCIDENT
Getting up to let the cat in I felt myself growing weak,...


untitled
you wiped out...


4/3/92
a dream...


FAILING TO RECOGNIZE
even as it occurred...


ROCK PAINTING
the dance I did...


REFUSING TO UNDERSTAND
what comes from the dog's mouth...


NIGHTWORK
the secret government...


ODE TO THE FRIENDS OF POETRY
the friends of poetry...


LOCATION
rights and privileges...


SENSE OF AN ENDING
the last breath I...

TIME TO GO


winter light
roads dim in the fog
trees hold up their evidence
a voice going home
on the gravel lanes led
by deviations written
on the inner bark of sycamores

the crows fly over
they are like us though
their words are higher in the air
and not so easily lost
what happens to a feather
they shed is it drifts
till something catches it
or something else wants
to bear it away

we should get going
the voice will be there before us
we can hold hands
the going will be easier
the chill will leave us

if necessary we can sing
not so far now
pick up your feet
and go singing
the best help is no help
and we struggle so much
our beauty has trouble with us