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    -- word biscuit --
    
                  -- sliced heart edition --
    
                                      03-15-99 -- ray heinrich
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 luckily i like my dog who likes licking hand lotion off my hands  
 -ray




 






  
      
      < life can become concrete >
      
             quite easily
      
                - - -












    
        < cut like a movie >
      
      as if a picture of my hand 
      taken in Texas in 1983 
      (on the causeway to Galveston) 
      could reach out 
      and open a door to the east coast
      just wide enough 
      to shout through
      anything 
      that might stop you
        "it's all pieces now 
         (you tell me)
         gray, white, black
         i spend afternoons 
         cutting them
         like a movie
         and in the evening 
         i spread them out 
         great rolls of them
         always in ink 
         thick black lines of them
         even and straight"
      
               - - -


     












              < ice cream >
      
      my little brother never liked ice cream
      and the rest of us kids just couldn't understand this
      
      why
      we always asked
      don't you like ice cream?
      and how 
      we always asked
      can you NOT like ice cream?
      
      years later
      we still ask
      he still doesn't
      
              - - -
 








 
     
        < full pigeon, press here >
      
  'she's a Merill's Blue'
  he said
  handing the bird to me
  'there's fewer than 50 of them in the states'
  she squirmed 
  and as i tightened my grip
  somewhere     
  a tiny asshole 
  (measuring about 2.5 millimeters fully dilated)      
  was
      
                  - - -










      
          < death valley >
      
      the slow lean of an afternoon 
      plays us down
      a dull needle of a day
      rusts away
      dust 
      skin
      breathing a gallon of water an hour
      not having to piss all day 
      i need a rock to be under
      i need to stop this cooking
      white powder for sweat
      
               - - -














             < joining jesus >


         i was joining jesus to his cross
         using galvanized 6 inch decking screws
         and the cordless drill
         you gave me for christmas
         when the phone rang
         and it was some roman
         wanting his sword back
         when i think of what the republicans
         could be up to now
         then impeaching seems harmless enough
         and i'm sorry
         to hear about your condition
         maybe the second opinion
         will be better
         today
         was too warm for january
         it woke the squirrels
         and the neighbors
         gnawing with motorized teeth
         made me skip a track
         on my next belief
         or some vitamin
         or arrangement of words
         that could have fixed it all for me
         so i'll just go back
         to nights
         filled with black plastic bags
         i don't know what's in them
         but whatever it is
         is leaking out


              - - -












      
      < houses of flesh >
      
      a slight pressure 
      an invitation
      i make you
      arrange your furniture 
      i stretch you 
      exactly so 
      as you watch yourself 
      drawn
      into my picture 
      
            - - -
      
















    < jesus gives me a hard-on >
      
      fixed up there 
      on his nails
      (as i dream he becomes you)
      me
      and my hammer
      sculpting 
      not around
      but through
      
              - - -














      
          < off hunting >
      
      will you open your chamber 
      to my silver round?
      (off hunting again
       the smell and the sound)


      your hair
      and your claws
      my canines
      and paws


      the grasp of your barrel 
      the fix of your sight
      my jacketed bullet
      fully in flight
      
            - - -














     
    < the child of the hoodlum >
      
      the child of the hoodlum
      (somehow manages)
      to be wrapped in white
      so she shines 
      all through 
      this too-long night
      the child of the hoodlum
      comes pre-subscribed
      to the pleasant channel
      of the new-born bride
      without a mistake
      without a miss
      the child of the hoodlum
      is wrapped in bliss
      
            - - -












     
      < clocks and refrigerators >
      
           staring at one
            into another
      
               - - -












        
         < men in general, me in particular >
        
        yet another opportunity to watch
        you
        through the fence that separates our yards 
        me
        (pretending to sleep)
        as your long arms sweep 
        tracing the sun 
        with your breasts
        
                      - - -


















     < yours >


    is so soft


       - -
















         < $wi$$ bank, 1943 >
      
      hand$ $hook
      and they all di$appeared
      behind a $mile
      
               - - -














        
            < the great bear >
         
         while running a newspaper
         in columbia
         the great bear
         was left in a headline
         starving 
         and desperately splendid
         a hero 
         that fiction 
         could never possess 
         
       
(As has been widely reported, the cartel's concentrated 
 economic power has enabled it to buy off vast sectors 
 of Columbia's military, police, judiciary and congress. 
 Those who cannot be bought off, are killed.)


               - - -














   
        < hearts >
      
      mostly broken 
      these
      carefully fitted
      between the metal 
      of filing cabinets
      another valentine's day
      the lights
 
      on at seven
 
      off at six
      
          - - -
      












         


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  - legal notes - subscribe info - back issues - bio - copyright -


    legal notes:
    all registered subscribers to 'word biscuit' have my 
    sympathy as well as 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@wordbiscuit.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 
    them in a good, honest fish.




    subscription info:
    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@wordbiscuit.com -- and don't forget gift subscriptions 
    for your friends, relatives, and casual acquaintances.  




    back issues can be found at:
    http://wordbiscuit.com/




    stock bio:
    ray heinrich is an ex-texas technofreak and hippie-socialist
    wannabe who lives on the outskirts of washington d.c.  
    he writes poems for thrills and attention.  over the years 
    his work has appeared in many small, insignificant publications 
    both in and out of cyberspace.  in real life he repairs
    computers, has always been married, loves dogs, and owns 


    a BLUE fish.
     
    copyright notice:
    all this is copyright 1999 by ray heinrich and the free 
    state of dogs.  comments are VERY welcome (send to:
    ray@wordbiscuit.com ), 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
    (though, maybe, i have to admit i've pretty much given up)
    -- i'm not wearing any pants though the shirt i used to wear 
    had a quote on it from noam chomsky and i still have some 
    chew marks left on me by a small, obstinate poodle who was
    curled up, sleeping, resting his head on my feet a few minutes 
    ago but is now upstairs barking at a squirrel -- and now
    he's back -- time, what can i say? 




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