ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 2

12/20/89
Armor and...


PERSONAL APPEARANCE BY THE AUTHOR
I didn't shave or comb my hair this morning. The long coat...


untitled
aching a little...


DAYS BEFORE
the killer's mother is coming...


NIGHT CREATURES
under the devious arch of the night...


AUTOBIOGRAPHY
first I died...


untitled
When I lift my hands do not pull back,...


untitled
Here you are beside me...


untitled
you were leaping from roof to roof...


CONVERSATIONS
arguing about suicide...


I SAW
things...


untitled
putting the beach out...


WRITING ON A MIRROR
my pen is red it sinks into my hand...


PEARL STREET
I love him singing...


I TRY BUT
you won't leave me alone...


untitled
the better I did...


LAMENT
Is now the time to praise...


I COULD FALL OVER
Always losing patience with...


11 ARGUMENTS
I insist on the rightness of my thoughts....


POEM ENDING WITH MY NAME
I watch TV....


untitled
spring loosens up her veins...


AN AFTERNOON
A girl and a boy were walking through a forest of apple...


THE NEW REPUBLIC
a conspiracy against time...


BELIEVING IN A HIDDEN ENEMY
I went up the stairs in the dark....


THOUGHT
Who's behind...


untitled
I will marry my blear eye to a blind eye...


I SUBMIT TO THE DOCTORS
with starved breath...


SUGGESTION
Let the poets die...


WALK WITH FLOWERS
chamomile with their secret of sleep...


FIVE SEASONS
King Curtis blows his...


SKETCH
In the dark the boy...


ON THE OTHER HAND
now that I'm dying...


ON ONE HAND
the mark a cat's claw...


ANOTHER OCTOBER: McCORMICK'S CREEK
upstream stone blocks back the water up...


COMING CLEAN (WITHOUT LOVE)
Cows bellering on their feet....


WAITING FOR THE EARTHQUAKE
the dead who can...


ME AND MY BIRD
The water is round...


SENTENCE
A restaurant where you are left alone...


MYTH
Everyone is shouting...


RETURNING THANKS AFTER EATING
I know I'm out...


SEQUENCE OF DESIRE
wanting to stop smoking...


HOME JOURNAL
I forget...


HERE BEGINS THE POEM OF MY LEFT HAND
My left hand is a child...


HE SAID
everything mastered him...


BRIGHT METAL FRAIL REED
my breath loves to narrow itself...


DEVOTION
the moan bird is soaring...


NOCTURNE
I am waiting...


SCHOOL
I love him in his smelly pants...


1/14/91
Starting the blood...


REPORT
when I say...


TWO SENTENCES
And as for the rest of it: no, I don't believe we should ever...


CHARACTERISTICS OF A DOOR
with a thumbtack for an eye...


DESTINATION
after it is long since dark...


NEW BREATH IN ME
you are clouds...


THE UNLOVED BELOVED
"The Unloved Beloved" is written by the crazy son of the man...


AGAINST REPRISALS
a well cut jacket of despair...

HOPE

Never easy in his mind, that man still keeps hoping. It's true:
the great keep wealth and power to themselves, liars prosper
because we love to hear a lie, each of us who fears another is 
feared by someone else, and we're all absolutely right to fear:
none is trustworthy. "So what is there to hope for?" That's not
the point. Justice, kindness, and peace of mind are meant for 
the realm of imagination, not for here. There, all sleep is pure 
and beautiful, the days are harmonious and even-paced. We would 
not fit in. The animals of that place would attack us as 
strangers who do not know how to treat them. We are of this
place, that always breeds some "next" from its "before". A tree
whose roots fail and branches fall is drilled with holes, some
featheration gets busy there, coos its tune from the opening,
eggs are begun. When one shade is struck down, the sunlight 
falling on the earth draws up another out of the seedlings. It's 
not so much that in this place everything exists in time, it's 
that time is in us, all of us, trees and rocks and airs included.
That man never easy in his mind doesn't really hope for help
coming from the hills or plains, seas or mountains--what he 
calls "hope" is time moving through him and leaving a trace he
can feel and must embody in an image of what has not yet come.