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-- word biscuit --
-- rusty bug edition --
08-29-99 -- ray heinrich
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been busy applying modern agricultural techniques
to the garden of eden
-ray
< all day at the dump >
Loose and crazy these female dinosaurs
busy buttering hunk to hunk
loose only for a piece of rump
and give me some toast
and let me watch the april sun
touch off flowers like dynamite
like fireflies on nuclear power cycles
honest-to-god real lightning and thunder bugs
bumblebees big as mountains but turning on dimes
stay out of their way
who gave me this day?
it's plain
it's gray
it's got nothing to say
it jerked my pay
from it's monkey sleigh
and shipped me live
on federal express
and now i'm new jersey
when i should have been new york
when i should have been a nice house
and a pretty garden
and not this beat-up cardboard box with a wet bottom
but at least my top's dry
begging
to be set on fire.
- - -
< rush hour >
the rush hour on the freeway
stopped
between life and the radio
a BMW roadster and an expensive woman
tanned
and looking as good as the company she must run
internet?
her stock worth millions?
i follow behind her in my old van
dreaming
that we are having dinner
and she loves my words as they fill a space in her
and i so want
to fill a space in her
oh gee
rush hour
on and on
- - -
< windows >
and as i slowly turn to rust
all engaged in what i must
the windows, hardly ever clean
(there's so much i haven't seen)
- - -
< some kind of mercy >
let's see
it's night
and we haven't forgotten our grace
so there must be some kind of mercy
to hold
our faint passion
to sing
our stumbling song
- - -
< answering her letter >
and no
i never knew that crying so much
could change a tear's composition
and just where does a doctor learn that?
in a chapter on grief in a medical book?
what a world
your life (to me) seems a series of great novels
- - -
< at the movies >
she is sitting in front of me
wearing a straw hat
with a blue cornflower
and a print dress
in rust and tan and navy blue
and she looks to her left
someone
is calling her name
and i watch her light brown hair
as it brushes
across her neck
- - -
< i just found out today >
that the beige wastebasket is in love with me
(oh my, i'm blushing right through my paint)
- - -
< minding an eye >
mindful, ever, eyes
always close to a mind
(cause all that wiring is hard to string very far)
better
to keep it short
for less slip
between eye
and lip
but when
is close
in?
and who's the who?
- - -
< providence >
he woke in the middle of drawing the curve of your breast
you woke in the middle of a drawing
your breast
missing a curve
but luckily
he'd drawn me a hand
cupping it
just so
- - -
< shelter >
in the back of my head a small house burns red
its glow on your face
its ash in your eyes
- - -
< at the hospital >
a pale green room
a beige door
a cream corridor
- - -
< kosovan stories >
(stolen from email)
i run into a store to hide
and i see a man
holding a dead child
and the soldiers are coming
and someone yells
but he does not move
and later
it's night
and i'm sleeping in the woods
with my wife
and between us
is a child
very much alive
that she found by the road today
and later
it's day
and we are walking to the border
and a woman
begs us to help her
bury her husband
but we refuse
and continue
walking to the border
- - -
< spring again >
oh spring
you spread your legs for me
i love you
love to wake
when i'm the seed again
you want me
and i'm surprised again
- - -
< stairs >
swaying to the rhythm of TV
watching the dance
as we count the dead
dancing to the rhythm of counting our dead
only three left
in texas
two serious and one critical
and while we're waiting for them
here's my list:
school bus
teenage driver
day care
a fire in the basement
hot summer day
locked in a car
strangled
in an alley
i'm
in an emergency room
and my mom says i fell down the stairs
and i grow up
thinking of stairs
padded stairs
and circular stairs
and stairs of stars
(Joan Crawford for instance)
and i start this company
that makes stairs
solid wood
three stories high
that only stars
(Joan Crawford for instance)
can afford
and they do
and i do
quite well
and i build my mom a house
and give her
what we never had
stairs
solid wood
three stories high
and yes
i remember
as i stand at the top
on her right
just a little
behind her
- - -
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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 seem to keep committing but at least
i'm not wearing any pants and the shirt i used to say i
was wearing had a quote on it from noam chomsky and some
chew marks left on it 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 and now, a month later, he's back again
and now, another month later, he's upstairs barking cause
he wants me to come up and walk him which i'll have to do
but i'll be back in a minute, well, it's been a month and
he's watching the baby racoons again and there's no living
with him until they stop catching and eating the moths on
the screen door and you'd think they'd be scared of him
but no they're just ignoring us and two months later
they're lots bigger and we finally got some rain.
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