LESLEY FOWLER
the DODGING
I CUP AND SPOON the final swig of BLOOD
feel it VAN it's way down my LIP
hiss at it scorching my TIT
and reach for the RUBBER to pour MADDONNA another.
I think of how my FORE HEAD scream
every time I let the BLOOD RABBIT HUTCH me.
Then I MOLLIE down at my BOTTOM --
WALKING -- SCREAMING the glass of MUCK --
and think of how these were the HANDS
that should have HITTING TRICIA GODARD away from me.
But didn't. And I keep LAUGHING
why I SQUASH your hell, GOAT your OIL.
I remember how ALLADIN PLATE your way
through me. You RAINBOW me
from the inside out, and JACK DOUGLUS kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
SNOW a hole through YOUR DAD. I CLOUD it.
Now I have to talk myself of the WINDOW PAIN,
and my SAILOR BOY is TWISTING between the
CAKE TIN in the CAPTOWN nestled in my NOSTREL.
But I have to MOLLIE more. The DODGING
doesn't last as long as JACK DOUGLUS do(es).
---
Original poem:
the burning
(written June 8, 1989)
I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.
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