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-- word biscuit --
-- fully functional edition --
04-26-98 -- ray heinrich
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i love the money but why can't they just send it to me at home?
-ray
< at the supermarket >
the large fish
the one in the middle
smiles
as only a fish can
and i try
to smile back
inconspicuously
- - -
< those evenings >
you pretended it was spring
even when it was
those evenings when the sun went down
just
as the moon came up
you practiced this
holding an orange in one hand
and a pear in the other
lifting the pear
and letting the orange fall
past the wash of beach
between your thigh and breast
- - -
< fish and promises >
as your letter opens
the mist
rolling from the hills
is filled
with the black-tipped wings of gulls
tiny specks on some sky we shared
carrying you off
like the silver-sided fish they love
promises
always enough to get me up
to catch the alarm before it goes
and shower and dress
and eat and leave
pictures
and things remembered
and words said
and the parts of them that come back
there are always enough of those
the black-tipped wings of gulls
tonight
i'll sleep with them
- - -
< why you take so long >
i knock on your door
so you fold the green felt
with your grandfather's initial's
over your father's revolver
and place them in a drawer
under last year's taxes
then you get up
to answer me
- - -
< going somewhere >
the radio
and those other cars
on and off
the interstate
the blue signs
and the red ones
and the mileage markers
201.7
201.8
and the license plates
ISEEU2
and GOSHIML8
and someone else
GOIN2KC
and the bar-b-que freetos
and the trucks
and the pepsi
and the hours
and the cheetos
and the towns
- - -
< some last thing you said >
i get to keep remembering it
- - -
< looking >
you look
across from me
your look
looks at me
i don't want to be
looked at
looking like this
i don't want to be
looking
like i am
with you
looking
like that
- - -
< Nike >
in the late 80's
Nike spent a fortune
developing robots
they never used them
humans
it turned out
were a lot cheaper
if a robot broke
they had to fix it
- - -
< finally got a real job >
Living a bit west of washington d.c.
has nothing to do with my finally
having gotten a real job though i
guess it must have helped but it
probably has more to do with shear
luck, my dog, and just the right
combination of prescription drugs
but whatever the reasons here i am
getting up every morning, grooming
myself, dressing appropriately,
and heading to a safe little cubical
where the poor people around me
have to listen to conversations
with my computer, my file cabinet,
and the angry blue wastebasket which
really isn't mine (well, none of it is
mine but the others weren't stolen
late at night from another floor
of the building except for a few
small parts inside my computer which
i'll never admit to so it's no use
telling anybody) so now i have a
real job and earn money and am a
proper member of society doing my part
to help somebody who's already rich
get richer which is about as moral as
you can get in america these days and
i don't seem to have much time to do
anything else anymore but i'm told this
feeling will pass and that i'm a real
wimp cause most people could do this
and have kids and even find time to
get abducted by starships while still
raising their kids and holding down
three jobs and since i'm not doing
anywhere near this i'm a real wimp and
the neighbor who's telling me this has
two cars in his yard he's been working
on for years while i only have one.
- - -
< what did spring say to the chicken? >
nothing about roads
nothing about eggs
well
a little about eggs
- - -
< cycle >
someday
(again)
the door
will be hard to reach
- - -
< one two gone >
a road
a fence
by a field of corn
i'm making a turn
same as yesterday
one
two
it's gone
and waiting for tomorrow
the road
the fence
the crows
making
their tiny black holes
in the day
gone
with the corn
the road
the fence
one
two
gone
- - -
< sunset >
sunset is usually
a lot of pink light
and then it gets dark
but if you wait long enough
it gets pink again
- - -
_______________________________________________________________
and...
all registered subscribers to 'word biscuit' have my
permission to publish any individual poem or poems
contained within it (or the whole dang thing if you get
to feeling like it) so long as you obtain no commercial
or barter considerations in exchange for such copies,
it's not part of any pro-republican campaign literature,
and you do it within two years of its original publication
date. anything else requires my permission which might
be obtained (depending on the mood i'm in) by writing to
me at: ray@scribbledyne.com -- and yes, i love it every
time someone is amused enough to make copies and send
them to friends, pass them out on street corners, read
them in coffeehouses, post them in laundromats, or wrap a
good, honest fish in them.
if you're not a registered subscriber and would like to
receive 'word biscuit' irregularly (of course it's free),
just send an email saying something like yes to:
ray@scribbledyne.com -- and don't forget gift subscriptions
for your friends, relatives, and casual acquaintances.
back issues can be found at: http://wordbiscuit.com/
all this is copyright 1998 by ray heinrich and the free
state of dogs. comments are VERY welcome, ALWAYS read and
LOVED as proof that someone out there acknowledges my
existence, but not always responded to which is a greedy,
selfish act on my part which i'm trying not to commit
quite as often, but if you want to take your chances or
if you're a healthy, independent sort that really means
exactly what you say then just go ahead and send anything
you want to: ray@scribbledyne.com and i'm not wearing any
pants though the shirt i have on has a quote on it from
noam chomsky and some chew marks left by a small, obstinate
poodle.
_______________________________________________________________
end
well, almost...
newer stock bio:
ray heinrich lives in the washington d.c. area. for many
years his work has appeared quite randomly in and out of
cyberspace. a while ago, in an effort to avoid the constant
and usually futile bickering with the editors of various
publications, ray decided to publish himself in his own
"word biscuit e-letter". now it's worse.
older stock bio:
ray heinrich is an ex-texas technofreak and hippie-socialist
wannabe who writes poems for thrills and attention. over the
years his work has appeared in many small, insignificant
publications. in real life he repairs computers, has always
been married, loves dogs, and owns a blue fish.
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