Raymond Heinrich is an ex-Texan (?), widely published in a lot of little magazines, both hard copy and electronic, and may be reached at ray@vais.net. His chapbook "years of water" (Word Biscuit Press) is available free for an email request.


God and turkey:

Thanksgiving dinner sitting
next to a relative who's
filling himself with turkey
when his god leaks out and
this happens at thanksgiving
but he thinks his god is the
only one and he's not willing
to share with even one other
god out of all the thousands
out there so it seems like
megalomania to me like brain
disease but how do you handle
a relative with brain disease
sitting next to you at
thanksgiving and doing pretty
well at sharing other things
like stuffing and mashed
potatoes? I treat him gently
and i steer him away from the
sharp knives.

- - -



< word meat >


the shape of the word
lets us forget
what is inside
but inside the word
its shape dissolves

eating the meat of words
letting their sweet blood
flow from our mouths
our teeth deep
inside the words
our shape becomes
the shape of words

- - -



A small part of the day:

A small part of the day gets behind
and you get lost and the number is
ringing off in the next room where
i left you hours ago and it could
have been years by now and i hope
you have waited but i know you are
gone and the door closes and i walk
outside to these trees always there
i am in their midst carried by the
rays of light wrapped like a present
for one of the fates who promised in
the dream to meet me by the fallen
tree bridge over captain hickory run
just before sunset when the light is
its most magic gold the kind of light
you use for movies and fantasies and
this.





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.




< basic training >

exhausted
we finish another hike
in the desert around Fort Bliss, El Paso

laughing
at fatigues made white under our arms
from the salt left from our sweat

bullshitting
in the large, open barracks showers

my friend George says
"basic training is like a REALLY long gym class"

"but you get to carry real weapons"
i say

"but they're not loaded"
says george

"do you REALLY want Wilkins (another friend of ours)
walking behind YOU with a loaded weapon?"

"NOOOOOOO!" we both shout.
(but guess who ends up in Viet Nam)


on that cue
about six more guys walk into the showers

i can't help noticing
their cute little dorks
bouncing
on top of their balls as they walk
followed obediently by their
tight little asses

and the muscles of their legs
are pumped and distinct
from the miles of walking

i immediately start zen meditation
filling my head
with the sound of one hand clapping
because
in basic training
it is considered rude
especially in the shower
to get a hard-on
from watching your fellow soldiers

then i'm saved
as George motions we should leave

you see
George doesn't like the open showers
he can't stand the thought
that some queer
might be watching him

don't worry George
i say
your butt is way too ugly

he laughs

we laugh together

- - -


Ray Heinrich







< the rain comes >

some tiny drops
i cannot
call them tears
i cannot call them
anything

the rain comes one day
it leaves the next
we are all like that
living
from one sun
to the next

- -




< new morning >

the smooth perfection
of a new morning

the promise that today
everything
will be done

that today
old letters
asking old questions
will be answered

that today
the very best that's in us
will come out

and will bless
and be blessed
by the smooth perfection
of morning

- -





< down by the river >


the body
smooth and white
is waiting no longer
and the stab wound
washed by the water
looks like a scratch
but admits your finger
like a small mouth

- - -





< long trucks >

this time of year
especially
just off the interstate
walking my dog
taking a piss myself
just listening
to all those tires

- -






< another god-damned easter poem >

most of you was naked
i
on the other hand
was getting close
to the end of the conveyer belt
dumping us off into the abyss
or
into all the chocolate we'd ever want
but
there was no way to find out
which

it was

it seems that way with us
all of us who vowed
to always sleep naked under the same sheet

now you can walk up on the proverbial street
and ask either of us this question
and get a reply like you'd expect
from nazis at nuremburg
or commies before HUAC
or some poor queer bastard
needing a break from a judge of 85 who knows
this pervert should be damned

i can't help any of this
i tell myself i got to take a shower
and wash all this off for an hour or two

wash the sins like the girl called christ
(she was in drag)
that died
or didn't
a few days from now

i have no idea what to make of all that
these people come to my door
and tell me one thing
and after 3am on TV
some other people tell me ten other things
but all of them
want me to send my money

where can i find christ
so i can give it directly to him?

will it burn my hands when i do this?

will i perish in fire for some vile perversion
that i forgot about?

or will i be forgiven?

i really need to be forgiven
like everyone i know needs to be forgiven
for watching the starving people on TV
for truely feeling compassion
for about 15 seconds
till the next commercial tells me
to buy corn chips
and I WILL

oh god i promise I WILL
buy them
and eat each one savoring it
as it changes to YOU my CHRIST
changes on this EASTER of remembrance
changes to the flesh of the flesh i am eating
and grows large in me

i sometimes think of the child i am to bear
of my mother telling me
i could never do this because i was a boy

but i never could believe her
and i refuse to this day

i will become large with my savior

i will give birth to some salvation

and the truth that has always escaped me
shall be evident to this child
which i will press from me
in pain and victory
like the rock
upon which all that follows will be built

- - -




Ray Heinrich

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