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...

AUTOBIOGRAPHY VOL. II

the day before my birth
I was in my house in the woods
everything was ready

I had my soul in my pocket
I stood before the mirror
in my white suit

am I awakened yet
doubting the hour of my liberation

mother's heart was thumping
marriage had been a mistake
the heat was terrible
would this birth be easier

I straightened myself
checked the time
reached in my pocket and found

a stone I had gathered
by the smoothing sea
its edges taken tide by tide

in my palm the spotted mass
flecks like black mirrors

I bent close
my face is in each speck
this must be the soul
I was looking for


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