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<h1 class="title">Autocento of the breakfast table</h1>
<h1 class="subtitle">index of first lines</h1>
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<section class="content prose"><p><a href="deadman.html">A dead man finds his way into our hearts</a> <a href="movingsideways.html">a dog moving sideways is sick; a man moving sideways is drunk.</a> <a href="building.html">ART and CRAFT are only the inside and outside of the same building.</a> <a href="angeltoabraham.html">Abraham, Abraham, you are old and cannot hear:</a> <a href="big-dipper.html">after searching for days or even months</a> <a href="and.html">and you were there in the start of it all</a> <a href="tapestry.html">apparently typewriters need ribbon.</a> <a href="ex-machina.html">Bottom of the drink: they had</a> <a href="paul.html">contents of the shed</a>.</p>
<p><a href="statements-frag.html">“Can one truly describe an emotion?” Eli asked me over the walkie-talkie.</a> <a href="about_author.html">Case Duckworth is the cowardly but lovable Great Dane who solves mysteries on TV.</a> <a href="last-bastion.html">Dimly remembered celebrity chefs shuffle</a>. <a href="question.html">“Do you have to say your thoughts out loud for them to mean anything” Paul asked Jill on his first coffee break at work.</a> <a href="planks.html">EVERYTHING CHANGES OR EVERYTHING STAYS THE SAME</a>. <a href="swear.html">EVERYTHING CHANGES OR EVERYTHING STAYS THE SAME</a>. <a href="love-as-god.html">God is love, they say, but there is</a> <a href="window.html">hymn 386: jokes</a>.</p>
<p><a href="shipwright.html">He builds a ship as if it were the last thing</a> <a href="sapling.html">he chopped down: a sapling pine tree and looked at his watch.</a> <a href="toothpaste.html">He couldn’t find a shirt to go to work in.</a> <a href="wallpaper.html">He didn’t go back into the shed for a long time.</a> <a href="deathstrumpet.html">He didn’t have any polish so he spit-shined the whole thing,</a> <a href="underwear.html">he dropped the penny in the dryer, turned it on, and turned around.</a> <a href="squirrel.html">He is so full in himself:</a> <a href="hands.html">He looked down at his hands idly while he was typing.</a> <a href="ouroboros_memory.html">He said at the beginning, “It’s like rolling yarn into a too-small ball.</a>" <a href="writing.html">He sat down at his writing desk and removed his new pen from its plastic wrapping.</a> <a href="leaf.html">He shrugged the wood off his shoulder, letting it fall with a clog onto the earth floor of his Writing Shack.</a> <a href="stump.html">He walked into the woods for the first time in months.</a> <a href="about-the-author.html">He was born on a few separate occasions: green traffic lights at night</a>. <a href="cereal.html">He woke up after eleven and didn’t go outside all day, not even to his Writing Shack.</a> <a href="yellow.html">He would enter data at work for fifty minutes and then go on break.</a> <a href="joke.html">He wrote JOKES on the top of a page in his notebook.</a></p>
<p><a href="phone.html">“Hello Paul this is Jill Jill Noe remember me” the voice on the phone was a woman’s.</a> <a href="leg.html">His first chair was a stool.</a> <a href="hardware.html">His mother drove him to the Hardware Store on a Tuesday.</a> <a href="fire.html">His mother ran out of the house in her nightgown.</a></p>
<p><a href="words-meaning.html">“How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, / and frightening that it does not quite,” Jack Gilbert opens his poem “The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart.”</a> <a href="on-genre-dimension.html">How does one describe a poem?</a> <a href="i-am.html">I am a great pillar of white smoke.</a> <a href="walking-in-the-rain.html">I can walk through the rain, that rare occurrence</a>. <a href="exasperated.html">I didn’t write this sestina yesterday.</a> <a href="snow.html">I don’t care if they burn he wrote on his last blank notecard.</a> <a href="in-bed.html">I hear the rats run</a>. <a href="roughgloves.html">I lost my hands & knit replacement ones</a>. <a href="plant.html">I need a plant. I need a thing</a>. <a href="sense-of-it.html">I only write poems on the bus anymore.</a> <a href="epigraph.html">I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.</a> <a href="weplayedthosegamestoo.html">I saw two Eskimo girls playing a game</a> <a href="onformalpoetry.html">I think that I could write formal poems</a>; <a href="i-think-its-you.html">I thought I saw you walking</a>. <a href="dollywood.html">I turned off the TV as soon as the end credits began.</a></p>
<p><a href="i-want-to-say.html">I want to say I take it all back</a>, <a href="i-wanted-to-tell-you-something.html">I wanted to tell you something in order to</a> — <a href="howithappened.html">I was away on vacation when I heard —</a> <a href="time-looks-up-to-the-sky.html">I wish I’d kissed you when I had the chance.</a> <a href="poetry-time.html">I’m writing this now because I have to.</a> <a href="sixteenth-chapel.html">If Justin Bieber isn’t going for the sixteenth</a> — <a href="listen.html">if you swallow hard enough</a> — <a href="philosophy.html">importance is important.</a> <a href="riptide_memory.html">Inside of my memory, the poem is another memory.</a></p>
<p><a href="father.html">“Is man the natural thing that makes unnatural things” he thought to himself as he looked out the kitchen window at the shed.</a> <a href="dream.html">It had gotten cold.</a> <a href="stayed-on-the-bus.html">It was a gamble</a>; <a href="telemarketer.html">it was one of those nameless gray buildings that could be seen from the street only if Larry craned his neck to almost vertical.</a> <a href="hymnal.html">It’s all jokes Paul wrote in what he was now calling his Hymnal.</a> <a href="january.html">January.</a></p>
<p>“<a href="call-me-aural-pleasure.html">Like 40 as I challenge anyone to come too!</a> <a href="found-typewriter-poem.html">Look, I say — look here —</a> <a href="amber-alert.html">Lost things have a way of staying lost.</a>” <a href="cold-wind.html">Man of autumn, cold wind,</a> <a href="last-passenger.html">memory works strangely, spooling its thread</a>.</p>
<p><a href="peaches.html">“My anger is like a peach,” he said.</a> “<a href="spittle.html">My body is attached to your body by a thin spittle of thought.</a>” <a href="the-night-we-met.html">My head is full of fire, my tongue swollen,</a> <a href="nothing-is-ever-over.html">nothing is ever over; nothing</a> — <a href="proverbs.html">nothing matters; everything is sacred.</a> <a href="boar.html">Now the ticking clocks scare me.</a></p>
<p><a href="prelude.html">Of course, there is a God.</a> — <a href="purpose-dogs.html">Okay, so there either is or isn’t a God.</a> <a href="seasonal-affective-disorder.html">On your desk I set a tangerine:</a> <a href="notes.html">Paul began typing on notecards.</a></p>
<p><a href="toilet.html">Paul only did his reading on the toilet.</a> <a href="axe.html">Paul took his axe and went out into the woods to chop trees.</a> <a href="art.html">Paul was writing in his diary about art.</a></p>
<p><a href="reports.html">“Paul, you can’t turn in your reports on four-by-six notecards” Jill told him after he handed her his reports, typed carefully on twelve four-by-six notecards.</a> <a href="stagnant.html">“Riding the bus to work is a good way to think or to read” Paul thought to himself on the bus ride to work.</a></p>
<p><a href="elegyforanalternateself.html">Say there are no words. Say that we are conjoined</a>: <a href="music-433.html">silence lies underneath us all in the same way</a> <a href="apollo11.html">it’s the fucking moon. Big deal. As if</a> <a href="creation-myth.html">two hyperintelligent pandimensional beings</a> <a href="real-writer.html">feel as though I am not a real writer.</a> <a href="words-irritable-reaching.html">Somewhere I remember reading advice for beginning writers not to show their work to anyone, at least that in the early stages.</a></p>
<p><a href="swansong.html">Swans fly overhead singing goodbye</a>: <a href="man.html">THIS MAN REFUSED TO OPEN HIS EYES</a>. <a href="treatise.html">TREATISE ON LITERATURE AS “SPOOKY ACTION AT A DISTANCE”</a>: <a href="likingthings.html">the definition of happiness is <em>doing stuff that you really like</em>.</a> <a href="table_contents.html">The look she gave me (Half-hours in heaven are three times that in hell)</a>. <a href="moon-drowning.html">The moon is drowning the stars it pushes them</a> — <a href="moongone.html">The moon is gone and in its place a mirror. Looking at the night sky now</a>, <a href="mountain.html">the other side of this mountain</a>: <a href="problems.html">the problem with people is this: we cannot be happy.</a> <a href="worse-looking-over.html">The radio is screaming the man</a> — <a href="serengeti.html">the self is a serengeti</a> — <a href="todaniel.html">there are more modern ideals of beauty</a> — <a href="what-we-are-made-of.html">there is a cave just outside of Flagstaff made from ancient lava flows.</a></p>
<p><a href="initial-conditions.html">There is a theory which states the Universe</a>, <a href="howtoread.html">this book, is an exploration of life, of all possible lives that could be lived.</a> <a href="swansong-alt.html">This poem is dry like chapped lips.</a> <a href="finding-the-lion.html">Tonight, as I look up, the stars</a>, <a href="the-sea_the-beach.html">waiting for a reading to start</a>, <a href="lovesong.html">walking along in the dark, is a good way to begin a song.</a></p>
<p><a href="lappel-du-vide.html">Walter rides the bus into work on Wednesday morning when he realizes, with the force and surprise of a rogue current, that he is in the home-for-death phase of life.</a> <a href="theoceanoverflowswithcamels.html">We found your shirt deep in the dark water</a> — <a href="options.html">what did he do when he was in the woods?</a></p>
<p><a href="shed.html">“What do you do all day in that shed out back” his mother asked one night while they ate dinner in front of the TV.</a></p>
<p><a href="manifesto_poetics.html">What is a poem?</a> <a href="arspoetica.html">What is poetry?</a> <a href="largest-asteroid.html">What secrets does it hold?</a> <a href="death-zone.html">When I think of death I think</a>, <a href="ronaldmcdonald.html">when Ronald McDonald takes off his striped shirt,</a> <a href="punch.html">when he finally got back to work, he was surprised they threw him a party.</a> <a href="boy_bus.html">When he said Bible I heard his southern accent</a>: <a href="100-lines.html">whenever you call me friend</a> <a href="x-ray.html">while chopping a tree in the woods with his hatchet (a Christmas gift from his mother) a bird he’d never heard before cried out.</a> <a href="no-nothing.html">While swimming in the river</a>: <a href="early.html">YOU CANNOT DISCOVER ART ART MUST BE CREATED he sat on the couch at home while his mother watched TV and smoked.</a></p>
<p><a href="feedingtheraven.html">You never can tell just when Charlie Sheen will enter your life.</a> <a href="hard-game.html">You think building Hoggle’s a hard game?</a> <a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">Your casserole dish takes the longest:</a> <a href="something-simple.html">in mammals the ratio between bladder size</a> <a href="collage-instrument.html">has been a part of the Unix toolset since the late 70s.</a></p></section>
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