ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 4

ABOUT TO SIT DOWN
Stepping out the back door...

KISS HIS EAR
Brown corn bends as...

STALLING OUT
Just by getting enough distance...

PAGE ZERO
my mind's blank wall...

PARTING
words just off...

CRICKETS HESITATE
the night...

FROM AND TO
my first eternity...

IN THIS LITTLE POEM OR WORLD
I mislaid my travel plans the map...

FIELD GUIDE
indigo bunting no words...

untitled
I knew...

I STAY UP LATE
studying to live...

POEM OF EXPOSURE
the tender outcry...

untitled
underground I'll turn to you...

THEFT OF A LINE FROM TATE
I consider it a citizen's duty...

STANDING STILL IN
november...

HOW I TRAPPED THE MURDERER
I left out the part...

PROVERB
he who sleeps a false sleep...

A SUNDAY NIGHT SERMON FOR DAVID BAKER
The first step is to listen,...

I AM PART BUZZARD
my grandmother was a buzzard...

DEAR FUCKHEADS
my head hurts...

TILL IT THAWS
1....

RESOLUTION
I am so glad...

EVENING POEM
in the cellar...

DISTURBANCE
the world is alive...

FLIGHT
the gamblers...

VISIT
Buying toys, the one remaining copy...

STORM
in trouble again...

JUST AFTER DAWN
We sat among the cattle and he asked me ...

INTERPRETATION
Hour begets hour, dream begets dream,...

THE BUZZARD SPEAKS
I am proud...

INTERRUPTION
not knowing what to say...

JOSEPH'S POEM
if you wish to own a fear...

DIS-ORDER
of course...

BLUE MILLION
in the house dark...

untitled
blank pages spit their silence...

BROKEN POEM
life goes through...

AUTOBIOGRAPHY VOL. II
the day before my birth...

MARENGO
the pressure of seasons...

TODAY
awoke in the forest...

AFTER COMPLAINING FOR DAYS OF THE HEAT


rain and cooler weather
finally came last night
paradise is eternal
but our idea of paradise changes

there is a lion in our woods so
paradise is a city with no lions
supplied from somewhere outside
by people who enjoy
hearing the distant singing

the gold of the city
becomes a mirror reflecting
greed and unhappiness
no more singing only groans
for the eden we know as wilderness

but the wild is only the wild not awake
with human worth
there is a garden at the edge of it

and a lion in the garden
singing to his lambs
to get them to sleep or to wake them
they flourish from his care
until the garden is wasted from their chewing

and we see paradise is the lion
in his form of eternal appetite
or in the motion of his chest beating

and we want to be the movement there
so stunned out of our humanity
there is no more paradise to seek