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 work defines itself, pulls itself forward, it is nothing like
looking at the work afterward or imagining it beforehand, it is
done with effort, you feel sore afterward, your mind is involved,
it looks on, it goes into the work and comes back out again to
itself, it rests and something else does the work, the work exists
of itself, it pulls together the place of the work with the doer,
it is neither the place nor the doer, it has left the doer, the
doer is empty of work, the signs of work are there but not the work,
the work is resting in what has been done, it rests but is still
work, the work has no end, it travels from doer to doer, each of
them empty, none exhausted, the spine is involved, hands, brain,
legs, eye, the parts involved are not the work but only the means,
the work smells like blood, it has motion, it lives, it is wanted
dead or alive, no one has seen the end of work, it follows imagina-
tion, it leads imagination, the work is not represented by what it
does, it seeks out the doer, the doer sweats, his back will not
hold up, his mind is not large enough, he dies and is replaced,
that will settle him, let him live for that or stake his reputation
on it, he is deserted, he is dust, he lies under the work, he is
silent, the work and the doer:  neither one is sacred, neither one
stays the same.