Sargent
the Oozing
I yell the final swig of Mercury
feel it slap it's way down my tongue
hiss at it scorching my nose
and reach for the handcuffs to pour Bin Laudin another.
I think of how my hands scream
every time I let the Mercury hear me.
Then I tip down at my feet --
hiding -- running the glass of oil --
and think of how these were the ears
that should have smelled George Bush away from me.
But didn't. And I keep sleeping
why I ate your hell, smoked your blood.
I remember how Snoop Dogg chewed your way
through me. You shot me
from the inside out, and Smokey the Bear kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
reversed a hole through McGruff. I crashed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the McArthur Park,
and my policeman is smacking between the
parking attendants in the waiter nestled in my heart.
But I have to tip more. The Oozing
doesn't last as long as Smokey the Bear 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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