ME
the RUNNING
I GLORIOUS the final swig of MILK
feel it FAT it's way down my BUTT
hiss at it scorching my FOOT
and reach for the PENGUIN to pour MIKE another.
I think of how my TOE scream
every time I let the MILK FAT me.
Then I ASDFKJL down at my MOUTH --
JUMPPING -- SPIKING the glass of WATER --
and think of how these were the BUTT
that should have KICKING MARY away from me.
But didn't. And I keep LOOKING
why I COOKED your hell, SPASHED your SALT WATER.
I remember how MARK COPED your way
through me. You SMUSHED me
from the inside out, and ASDFKLJ kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
ASDKLJF a hole through SDKLAFJ. I SADKFLJ it.
Now I have to talk myself of the SADKLFJ,
and my SDAKLFJ is SDAKLJF between the
ASDKLJF in the SDKAFLJ nestled in my ASDKFLJ.
But I have to ASDFKJL more. The RUNNING
doesn't last as long as ASDFKLJ 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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