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: 14

GOOD QUESTION
why do I write all the time ...


SOME MILLERSBURG
of your own ...


8/24/05
the dusk comes out and takes the woods...


untitled
lifting a light to help itself ...


BLACK AND GREEN
on state road four you came down...


SEEN FROM ABOVE
and without the distraction of time...


GROCERIES
when you think you see...


I TELL YOU HOW TO GET THERE
and what it's like...


A LONG LINE
at night in the sky...


SEPTEMBER, 2005
huddled masses...


THIS TIME OF YEAR
walking early out ...


LIVING HERE
on this tail end of white river water...


11/14/05
my nails hurt from the cold ...


untitled
on the track made ...


untitled
I kept a ...


untitled
my cold clothes ...


OUR HOUSES
the town the fields the woods...


A POEM AS A PILE OF STICKS
poetry is where I have not been before...


ALSO
the flames sweep upward...


ON NOT SLEEPING
here on the less end ...


THE MIDDLE OF MY LIFE
when I reached the middle of my life ...


untitled
the guillotine cause and effect ...


1/18/06
the future of one day...


SLEPT
rain fed a fire in the roots ...


POEM
widow...


WET ALL DAY
this cold rain is our earth's ...


ALL DOGS TO GET NEW LEASH
wet when it's wet...


NIGHT/SEA
staring into the night as into a sea...


2/6/06
wood coming today ...


BEND
when I take in hand...


WORK
my books bend under the weight ...


untitled
of the world ...


PEACE
late afternoon...


THEFT OF A LINE FROM OPPEN
return ...


I HAVE GAINED NOTHING I HAVE LOST NOTHING
new moon sliver ...


2/27/06
our disobedient worries ...


MANY DAYS RAIN
driving carefully on ...


THOUGHTS
my second thoughts ...


THEFT OF LINES FROM KHLEBNIKOV
the gouges in the sides ...


TO MY BAD HABITS
when I see you I think of myself ...


ON MY READING LIST THERE IS
a history of funerals so well-written...


WRITING AT NIGHT
its chief object ...


5/24/06
chilly mornings with bright sun ...


WORSHIPPING (WITHOUT GOD)
hands clasped weight on the knees ...


STATE FOREST
the trail through deep woods in a long slope ...


MY BED OF ROSES
on my bed of roses ...


4 A.M. LIGHT SO BRIGHT IT WOKE ME
old moon ...


MAN OF DREAMS
dusk ...


untitled
into the war...


NOT OURS
rain ...


untitled
passion over ...


IMAGINATION IMAGINATION IMAGINATION
earth floats higher...


6/21/06
the sun at noon ...


NOSTALGIA
the rain is an empty city ...


SELF-PORTRAIT (WITHOUT MY FACE)
ambivalent about irony...


LOOKING
blue backs and forked tails ...


7/28/06
first bat and first star...


DRIVING ON THE NARROW ROAD
off to one side this open hill ...


UNLIFTABLE
under all the alasses shadowing me ...


VISIT TO THE CEMETERY
over by the road the careless ...


HOW FAR
built on the water waking ...


FIVE THOUGHTS BEFORE SLEEP
the sand the shore moved...


AWAY LIKE WE WANTED
above the trees ...


WE KNOW THIS
The dead are sleepless, we know this, they need no rest. With ...


INNER WORLD
the river rich in me ...


WITHOUT KINDNESS
on its stalk the corn flames towards the mouth above ...

THE DROUGHT


if the drought means anything we haven't been told
as a matter of course it seizes our eyes for the water they carry
unrecognized by all but a few its mother has set out looking for it
she takes no food and rests only when exhausted
the footprints are everywhere the trail is confused
when she asks she is mocked or given useless sympathy
useless because it contains no information other than itself
if she hums as she searches her feet tire less quickly
and the marks on her face stay hidden from those she mistrusts
when they come out the marks reveal a buried electricity
of which we must be aware and shun as a danger
the long search has made her ruthless and severe
her face is printed in every newspaper as one of the ten least-wanted
she believes that somewhere past the dead corn and weak flowers
her child has fallen in with dry companions and forgotten his home
if only someone would remind him with a few shreds of wallpaper
or the smell of the furniture he would be called to his senses
and leave his wandering that only brings sorrow and a few souvenirs
too delicate for the rough life of no shelving or strongboxes