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   ---- word biscuit ----    

              -- strong turtle edition --

                                 02-13-96 - ray heinrich
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just for valentines:


          < 4meta4s4urluv >
      ---------------------------  
        

        < clothes to my heart >
        
        the rubbing of your love
             has pilled 
          the polyester slacks
             of my heart

                - - -
        

        
         < no shampoo either >
        
          i refuse the collar
          i prefer to scratch
             at the fleas 
             of your love

                - - -
        

        
           < my dusty heart >
        
         i would clean my heart
             of this sorrow
        but i cannot bear to loose
       the dust-bunnies of your love

                 - - -
        

        
        < the cookie of my heart >
        
        when the cookie of my heart
                 burns 
          on the baking sheet 
             of your love
        
        will you scrape my bottom
           and eat me anyway?

                 - - -
        
        
        --------------------------






        < fingers, eyes >
        
        you
        your face turning
        paused 
        not seeing me
        i
        almost ready to meet you
        am raising my hand
        counting my fingers
        finding
        still the same number
        then 
        your face resumes turning
        soon
        you will see me
        and 
        my face
        and 
        i will be shaking  your hand
        feeling your fingers
        finding still the same number
        and each one
        yours and mine
        will be busy greeting 
        the other
        but you know
        fingers are like that
        
        now eyes
        now we start
        on eyes
        
           - - 




about love, but in reverse:


        < holocaust >
        
        i call myself ray heinrich 
        and i am a german
        and the german i am
        is part jewish and part nazi
        so 
        some of my relatives
        were busy 
        killing the others
        and i
        am left mixed
        so when 
        i visit
        the holocaust museums
        i see the thin 
        naked bodies
        of some of me 
        forced to bury 
        what the others
        are shooting
        point-blank 
        forcing the next of me in line
        to bury me
        and then the next
        and then the next
        and then the next
        and then the next
        forcing me 
        to take off my clothes
        why not humiliate me
        why not humiliate me
        before killing me?
        me 
        shooting me 
        point-blank
        luger 
        9mm 
        side of the head
        i watch this happen
        i take pictures
        so
        later 
        someone
        can engrave them in granite
        in
        miami
        at
        the holocaust monument
        and i
        can walk through it
        and see
        these pictures 
        there
        they are each of me 
        telling a six-millionth
        of the horror
        and
        here i am
        one side of me
        killing the other
        to get votes
        to get money 
        to get jobs
        and now i see
        it doesn't 
        have to be germany
        it doesn't 
        have to be history

              - - -





    < life >

continues for miles
 anywhere i stand
 
      - - 



        
              < concrete >
        
        a condominium on the 23rd floor
        one with a balcony
        is NOT the place 
        for a poet
        or even someone who pretends to be
        a poet
        you see
        there is a sliding glass door to the balcony
        and you open it and walk six feet
        to the railing which is three feet high
        and look down
        23 floors
        to
        pavement
        concrete with gravel
        that gives it
        a little texture
        makes it 
        seem hospitable
        but
        from 23 floors up
        it
        is just as hard
        as life
         
             - - -
        



          < through the window > 
        
        the shadow of the building
        moves
        as the sun 
        forms it into the hand of a giant clock
        grabbing the day
        and pushing it to one side
        
                  - - -




     < the purpose of poetry >
        
        
        poetry gives words
        a place to go
        
        poetry can save you
        from work
        and relatives
        and love
        and suicide
        
        it saved Sylvia Plath
        for years
        and then
        it helped her
        
        poetry gives artists
        who can't draw
        a place to paint
        and novelists
        who can't write
        a place to speak
        
        and for me
        something to write
        while waiting
        for something to read
        
              - - -



< only the mirror >

the room has lost most of its furniture
we make a list 
but soon the list is gone
it seems
that only we are left
then 
i can't find you
now 
there's only the mirror

       - - -




        < deep kiss >
        
        you and i
        the first time
        kissed
        deeply 
        i felt it 
        on my mouth and breast 
        between my legs
        you were still mixed 
        with the far away
        the different smells
        the skin of your shoulders
        spread my legs
        
             - - -
        

      


      < the dead on my block >
        
        the dead
        on my block
        have borrowed
        wheelbarrows
        to haul the spirits
        of their last possessions
        
        if i could see them
        there would be many
        golf clubs
        and an occasional
        toaster
        
               - -
        


      < no monkeys, no elephants >
        
        no monkeys
        no elephants
        that leaves room
        for a lot
        but 
        you're already complaining:
          where are the monkeys?
          the elephants?
        
                - - -
        

and getting back to valentines:


          < the first sign of spring >
        
        the first sign of spring this year
        was your poem about the first sign of spring this year
        i was
        of course
        pleased
        with your line about the first flowers
        and how you compared them to the start of your orgasm
        how you viewed spring
        as one 
        long 
        glorious 
        fuck
        
                    - - -
        
        
        p.s. 
        i have some free time in april
        maybe i could drop by
        



bye for now
-ray


**************************************************************************
(and all this stuff is (C) 1996 ray heinrich)
END


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