Lovell
the Loving
I love the final swig of tears
feel it smiling it's way down my finger
hiss at it scorching my hand
and reach for the grand piano to pour mother another.
I think of how my toes scream
every time I let the tears walk me.
Then I love down at my ears --
talking -- smoking the glass of nitrogen --
and think of how these were the legs
that should have projected wife away from me.
But didn't. And I keep talking
why I held your hell, kissed your tears.
I remember how kids played your way
through me. You showered me
from the inside out, and mother kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
loved a hole through father. I left it.
Now I have to talk myself of the California,
and my Costa Rica is hating between the
families in the will nestled in my heart.
But I have to love more. The Loving
doesn't last as long as mother 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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