ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS

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6 7 8 9 10
11 12 13 14 15
16 17 18 19 20

  keyword(s) in poems:

Sequence: 8

REVEALED BY SPLITTING
my face is of oak...

12/14/96
a voice saying...

MAKING SENSE ON A SNOWY MORNING
my woods fill up with snow...

POINT AT WHICH
the speaking of the heart...

MY HUNGER
I have turned my stones...

MIDNIGHT
midnight your moonlight...

12/23/96
after the singing...

untitled
walk out Eric...

EGYPTIAN
the words which took...

ING
lean sleep...

IN MEMORIAM F.B.
his house of lead...

HOW TO GET THERE
go till the snow falls...

PLAN:
throw four stones...

MY STRUGGLE WITH MY WEIGHT
Mornings around here there is so much fog in the trees...

1/2/97
strange life with...

DARING ABSENCE
the seeing blind man...

FACE THE NATION
1. the fine line in my tranquility...

FOUR BY FOUR
objects I have turned...

untitled
in the waste of sky...

GOOD AND ILL FORTUNE
go through me...

1/17/97
the snow blows the road is battered...

CRITICISM OF SHOVELLING
my stubborn back keeps working...

POET'S DILEMMA
words running up and down...

REQUIREMENT
am I empty yet...

I WROTE THIS WHILE THINKING ABOUT WRITING IT (TITLE LAST)
warm air makes the snow soften...

POEM AS IT HAPPENS
rain gets to fill the spaces used...

EYES AND EARS
eyes very involved in silence...

PROSE POEM ON THE BAKERS (NO COMMAS)
I always see the bakers when I am in a hurry walking past the door...

HELP MIDWINTER
no work snow flies like doves...

THEFT OF LINES FROM THE GNOSTICS
alone with my name...

IF JORDAN FLOODS
season of rising...

COMET AND SAINTS
now don't for-...

THE ARGUMENT
A burning house invites the comet in for a meal. The conver-...

FOOL'S DAY
it was my voice...

SIXTEEN LINES
reading a life...

OUT OF RESPECT
Albert Ayler's jukebox...

AGAIN
what the river of sound delivers...

ASHLAND
all I have buried...

4/27/97
the light rain...

untitled
you want me to stay...

I HEAR
your voice...

THE CLASSIC OF STONE
I had some...

JUST WAIT
too hot to eat the late hours...

NEO WHAT
just got through...

7/6/97
the dusk cool breeze...

KNOWN BY WHAT
deceived by everything...

STOLEN
a voice speaks...

WELCOME TRASH HAULERS
our miles of caves where...

TOO HOT
no rain to satisfy...

THEFT OF LINES FROM THE GNOSTICS AND KAUFMAN
one of rock, one of slime,...

COME ON
in your hand...

GUIDE FROM THE PERPLEXED
this is to let you know...

PRAYER THAT FELL THROUGH MY HANDS
did I understand what I said...

GOOF OFF
it was the ordinary hour...

PRACTICES
juxtaposed thoughts from separate days...

OUR DAYS
my brother in the tree...



THE ARGUMENT

A burning house invites the comet in for a meal. The conver-
sation turns ugly and the comet leaves. The house remains be-
hind to see how much of it can burn and it still remains be-
hind. There is a figure creeping near the house, and every
so often you can see him look in his hand. He is comparing a
photo of the house burning with the house burning. His wife
waits in the car. Her friend in the second grade had long red
hair and her name was . . . If only she could remember! She
would start the car and drive home, her husband would be left
standing there stupidly, everything would end satisfactorily.
But she will not go until she remembers. The house is very
bright now, its flames are waving at the comet, best to let
bygones be, no sense holding grudges, especially as the comet
is getting ready to leave the solar system. The comet packs
its bags with rice and stolen watches, moody. Yes, the house
can have its way. No sense stirring up trouble. But it could
have worked out differently. Oh well, the comet sighs, I will
be back again in some decades, and the house won't even be a
patch of black ground by then. Its soot will be forgotten,
eyes the smoke made water will have long been dust, but I'll
still have my ice and my long hair and my legend.


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