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...

Listen!


THE ROADSIDE MARTYRS


there are no coffins under the crosses they only mark
the intersection where the two friends body and soul
parted ways and made this place the host of the event

bare or studded with glitter leaning over or upright
the colors of their plastic flowers faded in the sun
their home a ditch their companions weeds
the roadside martyrs watch traffic go by with pale eyes

they are counting the numbers for us and remaining
they are the row fate has surveyed by the highway
they offer the meekest of warnings

no miracles are accomplished by them the dead stay dead
the lame limp but we are reminded that no matter how lonely
hatefully or carelessly we've lived when the blow falls
strangers crowd around to free us and to lift us away