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-- word biscuit --
-- bleeding for love edition (valentine's) --
02-14-97 - ray heinrich
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no matter how you cut it, it's still love.
-ray
< falling through glass >
i never thought
we'd get this romantic
as the sharp pieces slice neatly
making clean cuts
we are amazed
by our red sheets flowing after us
by our hands
still holding
our hands
still holding
some hope
of us
continuing
as we continue
falling through glass
- - -
< adultery >
your breasts were just the right size
just the right brown
for the light
one window away
balanced
between the two parts of the day
and our love
innocent
but only to us
and they
could always be waiting outside
but not in this room
where two months rent
was more than enough
for eternal love
for your breasts
so warm in my hands
your breasts
that sucked firm in my mouth
and the constant surprise
of your thin sweet milk
as his baby
slept quietly beside us
- - -
< true love 1 2 3 >
#1 < together >
here we are
my limbs
bound to yours
with packing tape
the fiberglass filaments
cutting into us
feeling
the slippery warmth
of blood
waiting
for the numbness
to relieve
- - -
#2 < science >
pressing the shock button
pulling the food cord
crawling
in the maze
of your body
again and again
(for statistical significance)
but never
agreeing
on the pain
or the orgasm
- - -
#3 < to the point >
writing directly
on myself
captures the feeling
but the knife is dull
writing directly
on you
my poem reaches
from lip to breast
now
my knife is sharp
- - -
< wounded boys >
some of us
were wounded boys
in the late 70's
and we
were wounded boys
in the late 70's
nothing special
not like
all the blood
that flowed in viet nam
it was just
our little wounds
like tiny saints
we were only good
for decoration
and Eric
and i can use your real name now
was naive enough
was brave enough
to show our love
and we
we told you not to
told you
that you would be denied
not just by judas
but the rest of us
as well
- - -
< walking on bones >
after days of old words
you use my knife
as a joke
and we are surprised
at how red the blood is
and how fast it dries
around the edges of
each drop
and how it feels
like the start
of an orgasm
entangled
by all the red
of this passion
so close
to how we began
- - -
< Broken glass >
I am still a little mad at you and
i lift your head and kiss your lips
and they taste of blood and the
glass is broken over the floor and
shines from some light but it's
dark in here and classical guitars
are coming through the window are
echoing their passion from years
ago but it feels like here those
notes and all this glass and all
the soft parts of us that need to
be gathered up and might as well be
collected in the stanzas of some
tragically romantic song because at
least that wouldn't make us seem so
small left here in our mess smeared
with each other unable to clean it up.
- - -
< a few hours later >
"you were the first woman to notice"
this, while looking at the first man
and then
a few hours later
"looking in mirrors when i was young"
"i am scared to look in mirrors"
he said this into a recorder
while looking out the window
"i love you"
these words are bleached out
and another few hours pass
"when i came home, they were gone"
watching you leave
watching you walk
along the road ahead of me
"where did all this blood come from?"
it was now a few hours later
- - -
< tomato and nightshade >
cause you thought
that the tomato sauce
would keep its distance
would be helpful
benign
but what were you thinking?
expecting from
hot-blooded tomato sauce
a direct relative
of the deadly nightshade
and the nightshade's tomatoes
are small and green
and you should not eat them
and i thought that you
were some fine tomato
i thought i tasted your red
or saw it
but it was
small
and green
and given to envy
and i
am given to envy
am given to mistaking
your small green fruits as well
i ate them
and was transported
to what i'd wished of
whirling planets and stars
hotter than i could stand
inside you
was hotter than i could stand
i mistook
the tomato for the nightshade
i may have died
but still
you smile at me
- - -
< the red heart and the silver heart >
the red heart and the silver heart
the first
filled with blood
the second
with the lightness of clouds
the red heart
a sharp knife
swings at your finger
never mind who
(maybe your other hand)
but the steel inside you
stops the knife
with the skin split
and the blood waits
and the two sides of flesh
are translucent
and the bone at the bottom
is white and gray
and then the blood comes
to relieve this paleness
to give it life
flowing easily
warmly
thickly
brightly
but later
it is almost black
the red heart
filled with blood
the silver
as thin as breath
watch a tree
throw itself against the sky
the silver heart believes
the tree
is the forked tongue
of some creature
buried
beneath the earth
licking the air
getting a taste of the sun
and the red
sees only blood
the red heart and the silver heart
on quiet nights
hear each other
beating between their own beats
hearing the voice of the other
hearing the voice of blood
hearing the voice of air
and between the beats of both
hear
the continents
miles down
rubbing rock against rock
singing with their heat
miles and miles down
the red heart and the silver heart
keep slivers of consciousness
magic
like the rocks are magic
living in the weather
that comes from the sun
and at night
the red goes on
the heart filled with blood
filled with the brilliant blood goes on
but the silver heart must rest
from writing down the story
from whole pages of hands
needing eyes
and much is missed
but the silver heart must rest
the red heart swells
again with blood
again with temples and sacrifice
of black obsidian blades
striking down to stone
with only a million ribs between
the red heart fills
and empties many times
and drinks it all as food and still is hungry
while the silver sleeps
the red heart and the silver heart
read the list of names
and they are always finding more
engraved in walls
printed in books
and the names they roll
roll from the silver
roll
into the red
and all the names
yours too
the red devours
- -
< slow fuck >
sweet center
sweet lips
i push my tongue into
if you expect
some young
stretched body barely twenty
you must maybe
be the same
but i
know all about my mate
refined
for twenty years
the smallest twitch
is greeted
by the right lick
that eases
past the thrill
of virgin blood
of new lust
like the difference
of hard chairs
and sofas
i know
so much of you
know you to the last split second
and while jumping off the bridge
is fine
we smile
and continue
our
slow
fuck
- - -
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if you know someone (yourself too) who would like to get
word biscuit irregularly (of course it's free), just send
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and all this stuff is copyright 1996 & 1997 by ray
heinrich and the free state of dogs.
you have my permission to copy and post this issue of word
biscuit so long as you obtain no commericial or barter
considerations in exchange for such copies, it's not part
of any pro-republican campaign literature, and you include:
"copyright 1996 & 1997 ray heinrich, comments welcome, send
to: ray@scribbledyne.com and i'm not wearing any pants"
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