Life of a hunter poems - Robinson, Michelle (University of Iowa Press, 2005)
Master and use copy. Digital master created according to Benchmark for Faithful Digital Reproductions of Monographs and Serials, Version 1. Digital Library Federation, December 2002
Clothes for the body that expands -- From this miserable mutineer a stutter, for when we are reading Dostoevsky in caves -- Keith -- Currency -- This may or may not become a permanent position -- Tenant -- This passenger is one of three conspirators -- I'd like to take leave of these things, and try the harness again. It wouldn't be difficult." -- [Untitled] -- Pepper -- I've got a crush on you -- When Smithson looked into the Salt Lake what he saw -- [Untitled] -- There being transfer -- Much was lost and gained en route -- A brief history of the nail -- He could have wrapped up his eyes and thrown them away -- The second woman I loved did something wonderful for the word pedagogy -- The life of a hunter -- Arriving at the landing one has crossed over the subject -- Aberration -- If he looks he can see himself floating -- Gambling -- Not the way things are now but the way things are -- Geography -- Previously seen suspicious character -- Cul de sac -- Chapter V, in which I lament the errors of my social life and join the ranks of the diplomatic service -- [Untitled] -- Living -- If we are "it" for one more minute the game will have become both boring and cruel [Untitled] -- Epilogue -- [Untitled] -- My love, my newest stranger -- Listening -- Symptoms -- The world within reach and the world of everyday -- Monologue on the Ostrakons -- Falling into a rug -- [Untitled] -- Saturnalia -- Spaces -- On the construction of a social reality -- The narrator dismembered the corpse and hid the parts in 3 sections -- [Untitled] -- Helen in the salon -- Helen's apostrophe -- Helen and the aromatherapy candle -- Helen does and art installation -- Let us not express our love in children -- There being transfer -- It can begin with an inspection of the premises -- Front -- The fantasy of incompleteness -- My child speaks of flowers and mud