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-- word biscuit --
-- summer snake edition --
08-30-98 -- ray heinrich
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here's wishing your summer was of things (at least) half-decent.
-ray
< the summer begins with snakes >
on saturday
in the basement
opening
the door to the furnace room
fwuump
(the sound of a snake falling on my head)
the rest
was not silence
(but somehow we both survive)
on sunday
the road
the lure of warm gravel
a six-footer
luckily
of contrasting color
stretches out
six feet
of no feet
as the car
slides in the gravel
barely stops
and Pat jumps out
grabbing a branch
trying
to get it off the road
just a nudge
should get it to move
yep
it hisses and jerks into a coil
fast
faster than she can jump
snakes
i say
remembering some TV program
can strike their length
Pat
gets a seven foot branch
- - -
< a big cat's loose >
and i'm walking at night
and a twig snaps
and it just sounds different
when a big cat's loose
- - -
< lobbying the refrigerator >
George objected
to my conversations with the refrigerator
feeling that somehow
i was making a deal
gaining
an unfair advantage
acquiring
improper access
to what can only be described as
ice cream
and beer
- - -
< monday >
while not as good as the others
it's still an acceptable day
not to be dead
- - -
< sanctified >
with seven days of offerings
the god of the kitchen sink
needs worshipping
and i
must obey
- - -
< last ditch >
i forwarded this from someone
who forwarded it from someone else
who forwarded it from someone
who had
absolutely
no time
on their hands
but in
desperation
copied this
from someone else
who forwarded it
in a last-ditch effort
to slow
the rest of us down
- - -
< forgiven >
my old toaster
called today
and forgave me
for all the times
i burned the toast
and blamed it
- - -
< backs >
something has to be weak
if it's to mean anything
that is
if weak's to mean anything
backs
on the other hand
don't need to be
but they are
- - -
< fins >
slowly drinking
an old car
its fins
and chrome strips
smiling
through the dust
- - -
< trout mailbox >
on the way home
there's a trout mailbox
rainbow
with a speckled belly
each friday
i mail it a fresh fly
irradesent
green
- - -
< rain tree >
the morning's rain
spent in the field
now under the tree
the breeze
revives it
in the field
the rain finishes
while under the tree
the breeze
lets it rain again
this morning's rain
stopped by the trees
then the breeze
lets it continue
this morning's rain
held by the trees
the breeze
releases
- - -
< around here >
it's night
and the dog needs a walk
and off to the north there's
lightning
and thunder
while around here
fire-flies
and the sound of
hickory nuts
hitting the ground
- - -
< significance >
while walking
the first images
rise from the ground
drawn from what's happening
a deep-veined leaf
filled with notes
from this summer
- - -
< drugs >
up here
they're legally obtainable and cheap
these views
as the city
spreads herself
to evening
- - -
< snow bell tree >
i thought it was a weed
but didn't pull it up
cause i was lazy for a few years
which gave it a chance to bloom
lucky
for both of us
- - -
< basic necessities >
dancing
thinking of trees like this
and dancing myself
with them
and
there could be a breeze
welcome in an afternoon
a bit too hot
or
it could be night
cool
with a little light
pale (as always) from a moon
that's almost set
- - -
< overheard >
Shoe Salesman:
a lawyer?
but Jenifer
you're too nice
to be a lawyer
Jenifer:
i'm not really
that nice
- - -
< all mine >
my mental illness
was so convincingly real
i had to make little notes
hide them everywhere
just
to remind myself
- - -
< mostly Country and Western >
Cheryl Wilkins
written across a box
in my attic
and in it
there's nothing
about the 83 Camaro
she loved
or when she went
to get groceries
stopped at a light
and that Ford pickup
the driver
drunk on one of those long Texas roads
and nothing
of her three girls
or that second husband of hers
she never got along with
and who wasn't good for much
though it turned out
he was pretty good
at raising those girls
no
just some letters
stuff from her first husband
who ended up
a second lieutenant in Viet Nam
and a stuffed bear
and a ring
won on the midway
at the Texas State Fair
in Dallas
and she wore it
all the time
even after its red enamel heart
cracked
and fell out
cheap thing
but you can still see
the impression it left
- - -
_______________________________________________________________
and...
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@scribbledyne.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
a good, honest fish in them.
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@scribbledyne.com -- and don't forget gift subscriptions
for your friends, relatives, and casual acquaintances.
back issues can be found at:
http://wordbiscuit.com/
all this is copyright 1998 by ray heinrich and the free
state of dogs. comments are VERY welcome, 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, but... you take your chances (of course
if you're a healthy, independent sort and you really mean
exactly what you say then just go ahead and send anything
you want to: ray@scribbledyne.com and i'm not wearing any
pants though the shirt i have on has a quote on it from
noam chomsky and some chew marks left by a small, obstinate
poodle).
_______________________________________________________________
end
well, almost...
newer stock bio:
ray heinrich lives in the washington d.c. area. for many
years his work has appeared quite randomly in and out of
cyberspace. a while ago, in an effort to avoid the constant
and usually futile bickering with the editors of various
publications, ray decided to publish himself in his own
"word biscuit e-letter". now it's worse.
older stock bio:
ray heinrich is an ex-texas technofreak and hippie-socialist
wannabe who writes poems for thrills and attention. over the
years his work has appeared in many small, insignificant
publications. in real life he repairs computers, has always
been married, loves dogs, and owns a blue fish.
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