ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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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...



PERSONAL APPEARANCE BY THE AUTHOR


I didn't shave or comb my hair this morning.  The long coat
I wear is very handsome, but all the buttons are missing, and
the lining is torn.  I go into a diner where I'm not known
and sit at the counter.  The waitress has clearly given a lot
of attention to her make-up, but the end result is similar to
embalming fluid.  I look down the counter and I see a guy who
reminds me vaguely of Bukowski sitting three stools away,
hunched over a cup of coffee.  He looks ill.  I pick up a dis-
tant aroma and wonder if it is him. "Fuckwad pansy," he says,
"how can you sit there and not shoot yourself?" I am terribly
terribly torn--on the one hand, I want to show that I instantly
understood his presence there, and his commentary on mine; on
the other, anything but rank flattery is likely to piss him off.
I sign to the waitress, who I now see looks like Marianne Moore.
Gesturing, I say quietly, "Give him a piece of pie.  On me."
She smiles, shaking her head, but goes off to get the pie any-
way.  I stare at my water glass.  What have I written that has
any worth?  Is there any way to persuade my public that I'm
for real?


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