Chelsey
the Passing
I play the final swig of milk
feel it skip it's way down my mouth
hiss at it scorching my bottom
and reach for the Spokane to pour Amanda another.
I think of how my ears scream
every time I let the milk toes me.
Then I roll over down at my knees --
entertaining -- scanning the glass of hot cocoa --
and think of how these were the fingers
that should have pancaked Chelsey away from me.
But didn't. And I keep annoying
why I climbed your hell, jumped your apple juice.
I remember how Jelly scarred your way
through me. You tripped me
from the inside out, and Kim kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
fell a hole through Liz. I got up it.
Now I have to talk myself of the volleyball,
and my net is running between the
countries in the court nestled in my foot.
But I have to roll over more. The Passing
doesn't last as long as Kim 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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