Poems by Walter Heineman    
 
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the nutritionist
the seduction of absolutes
the suicide
the terrain
under the big top
what our human spirit is
what you meant
when something is empty
when the service begins
why live in a world that does not answer
windows rattling in the wind
without identity
adherence to principles
boredom
cemetery flowers
compassion
habitats and drinking songs
he watches over
i am not
i cannot count the mornings
i listen to my political leaders
i make my will
i opened the door
i see the flagellants
if sin or evil exist for you
in common
it gets even more complicated
life teaches you
my fatalistic friend
my house does not overlook anything
no i really mean it
not a strategy
physicist of salvation
the anima
the better angel within me
the big wink
the elegant is simple
the heretic
the last tether of a relativist
the more complicated strands of dna
the most difficult thing
the new world puritan
the science of the winds
to be served
what has it become
what is the use
you cannot threaten misfortune
before the temple doors
bon appetit
choices
deliverance
finding a god that lasts
how did you watch your innocence leave
humility
i am not one to criticize
i can see the young boys are going fishing
i do not clean up as much anymore
i suppose it depends on how and with whom you die
i walk by the bedroom
if death is not thirsty
if you come to spend the morning
it is a quaint thought
keeping their appointments
languid sighs
lunar memory
more than love has been stolen
no one is confessing tonight
no wonder my neighbors complain
nothing goes away in my dreams
once the rumor has started
perspective in life and art
released from lockup
territoriality and the first establishment of rights
the angelic lover
the bazaar
the early stages
the emergency ward fills up tonight
the moon crossing a field
the night is not that cold
the right question
the sordid
the thoughts of some people
the vow of poverty
the wrong direction
the zen scrapbook
there is no room for sentimental stories
twenty more winters
we knew it was coming
whatever it means
gun violence
handmade shrine
i do not try to avoid being what I am
sometimes i forget and sometimes i remember
sports and science
the crow is not singing
the idolaters
the key to the future
the lack of priorities
the perimeter of power
the secret

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