-ray
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< notes on my own personal journey into darkness >
1. fix basement light switch
- - -
< we will be clouds >
someday
and while it could be today it probably isn't
(not even tomorrow)
so here we are
with more days than we know what to do with
but someday
we will be clouds
forever in the swirls of them
our faces seen
as bears and cats and dogs
and maybe...
even a dragon or two
and you
reclining
and me
watching your face
and you laugh
and the sound
is all of us
our coming
and going
and someday
we will be clouds
ever in the swirls of them
our faces
sometimes
in the corner of an eye
- - -
< ceramic duck >
sitting on my desk
your thoughts are mine
your bill...
but what does it mater?
there's orange all over us
and yellow
in the evening
as the colors come and wipe across the sky
the sky
filled with your brethren
so here it is
the fall
the fall that brings you promises
of south
and food
and warmth
but here you are
and here you'll stay
my lovely duck
with feet of clay
- - -
< without a word >
you leaving me
me leaving you
symmetrical planets in opposition
in the fall
dividing up our pictures of spring
fresh flowers
and dead leaves
bright leaves
i remember them
- - -
< at night >
on these streets
the voice of asphalt
sings the kiss of tires
deep in these streets
voices of asphalt
singing
to the kiss of tires
these streets of asphalt
kissed
by the singing tires
the voices of asphalt
sing
to the kiss of tires
listening at night
as the voice of asphalt
sings
to the kiss of tires
- - -
< despair >
pure
and just this side of a half-inch of dry-wall from serenity
from my last maxed-out credit-card
from a call to a lost love
from the hope that another drink will make it easier
this is all
so easy to say
- - -
< something fell >
or anything
or anyone
we
or us
or whatever you did this morning
do you remember the orange and brown of them rising in the wind?
our time
running backwards
bits of spring
in our nose
leaves
heading for the trees
- - -
< having drunk too much >
again
my aunt dot was an alcoholic
but what could she do in the days before lithium
before suicide was acceptable
it was the best she could do
valedictorian
winner of texas polka contests (my dad was her partner)
and still
on the beach in galveston
my dad
burying the pint from her purse
(bourbon for a southern lady)
swimming in her bra and panties
she was good to us kids
we loved her
- - -
< on the road to thanksgiving >
where were we?
oh yes
now i remember
talking
always talking
the 4 hour phone calls
the parents
(before they were dead)
reminding us
(and after)
but now
it's ourselves
our silent ever-talking selves
see the pictures
(as some of the mold comes off)
we
ever being
ever seeing some hot dog world
cute (and maybe honest)
conjuring faces
me on you
you...
well
that's a different story
but always
(and always is the best)
us
making up words
(like love)
just words
we'll never forget
- - -
< new dispose-all, not what it's cracked up to be >
takes forever on the tuna-fish cans
- - -
< like cheese >
i want to be like cheese
so good by itself
i'm by myself
but i'm not
like cheese
- - -
< i only paint pretty things she said >
"lucky i'm a painter
you don't need legs for that
hell
some people do it with their mouths
in the accident
my lower back was crushed
(i was driving drunk and thank god i didn't hurt anyone else)
it cut the nerves to my legs
but not to my back
so it meant
feeling my bones scrape together
and five operations
and pain!
i remember thinking
that all that suffering would be great for my painting
deep stuff
heavy stuff
(Frida! Frida! Frida!)
i spent months swinging between pain and tramadol
and for the hour or so i was in between i'd sketch like hell
crippled old men
disfigured woman
dying children
exhausted nurses
sleeping relatives
and the wilted flowers
and get-well cards
left
after they removed the body
this was great stuff
so i kept sketching
and slowly i got better
and finally
i could sit in a wheelchair
and finally
i could go home
and put all those sketches
in the attic
and only paint pretty things"
- - -
< ginger ale >
pop the can
the fizz...
it's us today
we're swimming in it
as we take it in
hand over hand
it's yours is mine
sweeping us
in dance
me to you
(that wonderful you)
it's us again
together
warm and fizzing and bubbling
- - -
< advice >
write drunk
edit sober
- - -
< if only by making dinner >
i could get a job
i could make the world more peaceful
i could get you to believe in me
but
the pasta chews perfectly
and the pork loin is just right
fresh taragon
balsemic vinegar
vadalia onions
red wine
and that olive oil with a picture of a mediterranean village on its label
but still
the news
those people in pews
those people on streets
while i'm by my oven
measuring and heating and cooling and where is that bread knife?
knife
and rifle
ballistic trajectories
the recipe
for perfectly correct explosives
an arm
or foot
cooked to perfection
the stitches in a girl or boy
mended tears
political wears
elections that we cannot bear
the holy night
and all it's mares
salt and pepper
shake us down
the silver spoon
within the clown
dressed in some primordial gown
reduced to this
a filthy sauce
it's time for dinner
kill the boss
- - -
< impossibly romantic >
where are we?
off-shore?
the boat... still
the silence... hugging us
guarding our warmth
against a cold night
- - -
< beautiful day but me >
inclosed
insoluble
an oak pit in a blazing peach
- - -
< john ashcroft came up >
i was talking with my mom
about john
and his veiled breasts
my mom
thinks he wasn't breast fed
but mom
i said
isn't that blaming the mother?
no
she said
i'm not blaming his mother
if i'd had john ashcroft
i wouldn't have fed him either
- - -
< cleaning up my house is like >
napolian
hitler
invading russia
(we'll be home by winter)
- - -
< the thought counted >
slowly
not wanting to finish
- - -
< interactive document, version 37 >
it happened on a hot plain
maybe not
it was night
it was hard to see the heat
shimmering off the sand
"it,s all in your head you know"
that's what they've said all along
but when
did you start believing them?
- - -
< obligatory poem about dogs >
i once saw one with eight legs
four eyes
and two noses
(maybe it was two)
something repulsive
emanates
from every orifice
throwing up is as natural as barking
which is very, very natural
they can't drink without coughing-up on you
everything comes second to food
(except squirrels)
the only thing more disgusting than a dog
is its owner
- - -
< new humane methods of execution >
padded chairs
(normal enough except for the headrest tilted back and your head strapped in
and the coloured tubes sewn to your mouth that makes it painless they say)
all this
from reading today's newspaper
and recognizing you
eighth from the left
- - -
< suicide is so poetic >
but after
doesn't leave much room
between the smiles and medication
comes reflection
and my dog
who in his mirror
asks for treats
while i
slit wrists
wear bags of nitrogen
and dive from bridges late at night
just dreams
i stay
to suffer as i can
and wait
for someone
for that nurse
to tell me
of her sister in Seattle
or
my mom
who comes to me in dreams
- - -
< at night - if only >
deep in these streets
the voice of asphalt
sings
to the kiss of tires
if only
it were that easy...
cause the concrete sings too
only softer
(except for its loud seams)
but the wheels don't sing
it's been a long trip
and they're tired
though the motor's there
deeper
rhythmic
(but it sounds like it needs a tune-up)
and the driver is busy with cash's boy-named-sue
but i'm listening
to all of them
and the wind too
as the transmission
gears up
and the wheel bearings
squeal for their greese
and the horn broods
with the wipers
both waiting for their chance
and the seat squeaks
as i join the bearings
squealing for lithium
while the headlights
take a dim view of all this
think we're crazy
- - -
< like a hammer >
thoughts come from the outside
but once they're in
they can't get out
our senses
our mind
serve only the intestines
which take what they want and turn the rest to shit
while poets starve
with nothing to sell
not even their words
(composed as music)
made only to be read
made only to be said
poems are a tool
like a hammer
like a person
and at first
the words seem simple
but
when repeated they become the circles that we're in and can't get out
i could sign my poems:
"ray wrote me"
but they're just thieves
taking anything they want
this poem
is a sculpture
made of the page
it's viewed on
this poem is dead and cannot live until you speak it
this poem is a cover that hides your beauty
here
let me pass it to you
undress it
hold it
speak it
see?
you speak it differently
you can't help but be creative
(it's not possible)
just as a child speaks
this poem speaks
there is no action
without learning
there is no movement
without danger
first sound
then silence
first light
then dark
- - -
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subscription info:
if you're not a registered subscriber and would like to
receive 'word biscuit' really, really 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
legal notes:
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@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, or wrap them in a
good, honest fish.
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 fools with
computers, has always been married, loves dogs,and remembers
a BLUE fish and four BRONZE frogs and has taken to planting
some wild grass seeds in various places around a forest where
all our loves and dreams reside.
copyright notice:
all this is copyright 2005 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
so i'll be back in a minute, well, it's been a month and
he's watching the baby raccoons 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 and three
months after that it's finally getting cold except for
my happy feet beneath a warm and still obstinate poodle
and more months later he's asleep in the other room and
my feet are cold and i have every intention of getting
up and doing something about this but not quite yet and
even more months later he's started up a .com with Ilane
to sell virtual cat and mouse jerky and a little more than
a month later he's back having burned out on e-business
and ready to get back to barking at anything that moves
which, months later, is a five foot king snake that thinks
it's warmer in here than outside and i grab the poodle
before he can chew on it and try to catch it but having
warmed up in the house it's REALLY fast so i explain to
it that it's welcome and all but i'm not about to feed it
so it will just have to fend for itself and, by the way,
watch out for the poodle and if you should ever get up
to massachusetts, say hi to Ilane for me and four years
later the poodle is even worse but likes to lay his head
on my feet again so what can i say...
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