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-- word biscuit --
-- lost edition --
07-17-97 -- ray heinrich
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no, wait, it was only the battery.
-ray
< your sweet smile >
eventually
everything is lost
your sweet smile
is still
and my adoring eyes
are closed
eventually
everything is lost
- - -
< joan of arc >
just today
i took a pan
off my electric stove
but i forgot to turn it off
and as i leaned
to get the other pot
i pressed my hand
against the element
now all this pain
comes only
from a single hand
oh joan
- - -
< the life we live and all that >
it's too obvious to talk about
so we are pretty much silent
opening the door to get the paper
putting the keys in the car
leaving to go to work
expecting to return
but never sure
- - -
< we were dying >
the first part of it
was light
floating off our hands
the second
so thick
its body
barely
rose above us
from one window
it looked
like a fierce spirit
from the other
we were dying
- - -
< ornament >
a light rain
a red berry
one of all these
all waiting
in the overcast
a slight drizzle
a fall day
and on each one
and this one too
a drop
a tiny mirror
stuck to its bottom
that wraps the sky
the forest
the field
the dog and me
all of us
it has all of us
stuck to its bottom
and we
become a picture
a silver ornament
hung on a bright red berry
- - -
< my fellow ants >
there is a certain power in defeat
the fuck-you sign
we make
behind our backs
and then
a few beers later
fellow ants
the tales we tell
of what
we could have done
- - -
< endless chain >
heart after heart
fills and fades
and see
there's yours
and then
there's mine
following closely after
an endless chain
heart after heart
fills
and fades
- - -
< spinning >
a spinning we go
round and round
and my hand in yours
our hands the only thing
that keep us
from falling
as we will
as later
we surely will
- - -
< pieces of a rain day >
the wise man with his tight asshole
longs
to fart like a fool
pieces of a rain day
pieces of a wet day
not one of those
great sunny days
today
but everything is washed clean
leaving a white mist
for the sun to come through
and on the ship
my grandmother
finds a fresh
new god
that has the feel
of freedom
and foxes with hats
foxes running across the roads at night
in headlights
left-handed toads
and my grandmother
she's dead
but she still whispers to me
- - -
< the view from up here >
the view from up here
the eye
looks at the foot
as it goes
out and in
the opposite
of the other foot
and the ground
is a light
gray gravel
that crunches
along with the feet so it
seems bound to them
from up
where the eye
looks down
- - -
< you are the closest to me i can get >
-for gale
my computer refuses to talk to me
and all my love for these machines
does me no good tonight
the great god of computers
does not want this poem
so i'm writing it in pencil
on paper
and the great god of dead trees
worshipped by the loggers
and the forestry service
and i know that's another story
but damn them and their greed
and as i was saying
the great god of dead trees
will accept this poem
will accept the billion pieces
of junk mail that are its kin
and the graphite
that it was written with
that does not
desire to be a diamond
because it is too hard
and in this poem
i'm talking about this me
i sometimes want to know
and this you
the you
who is reading this
i sometimes know
and if you read this
then write me back
cause i can't read this
- - -
< ants and sidewalks >
that ant on the sidewalk
the one you stepped on
the ants on each side
were pretty much the same
but they
didn't get stepped on
- - -
< lotus >
the blank spaces of having known you
stretch out
into the plains of south dakota
hot is
without sweating
without the slight touch of your
breasts
nipples
i only dream of yours
i
am without
on this road
and you
reading this
must fill in
whatever
you must
and this morning
an orange plate
a yellow bowl
the rice krispees
crackled and crunched
and i (me)
wished
i could bring us back
to the lotus
- - -
< silver star >
a uniform
the picture of your brother
and his silver star
you're proud
but we talk about the weather
- - -
< the hill >
i write poems
instead of driving
into that convenient overpass abutment
on route 95
that's 5 miles east of here
i write poems
playing with myself
but hoping
to hear from you
as each word
runs
down a hill
a different hill for each of us
but it's the hill
we both remember
- - -
< i'm like a vacuum >
i'm like a vacuum
sucking the life
out of you
or it seems
like that to me
getting us
to buy
more promises
and oh
your money
let me have that
in the meantime
masturbation
is a fine art
self-love
when you need it most
independence
and ok
desperation
hell
but still
if i wasn't miles away
and if i hadn't made
certain promises
i'd be over there
in a minute
- - -
_______________________________________________________________
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biscuit irregularly (of course it's free), just send an email
saying something like yes to: ray@scribbledyne.com
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individual poem contained within it, so long as you obtain no
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it's not part of any pro-republican campaign literature, and you
do it within one year of its publication date. anything else
requires my permission which can be obtained by writing me at:
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back issues can be found at: http://wordbiscuit.com/
all this is copyright 1997 by ray heinrich and the free
state of dogs. comments are VERY welcome, send to:
ray@scribbledyne.com and i'm not wearing any pants.
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