JEREMY
the SINGING
I TYPE the final swig of COKE
feel it BREAK it's way down my ARM
hiss at it scorching my HEAD
and reach for the DESK to pour NICK another.
I think of how my FOOT scream
every time I let the COKE SQUIRT me.
Then I DRIVE down at my TOE --
CLEANING -- HITTING the glass of JUICE --
and think of how these were the FINGER
that should have LISTENING JENNIFER away from me.
But didn't. And I keep CORRUPTING
why I JUMPED your hell, HESITATING your GATORADE.
I remember how ROSALINDA LAUGHED your way
through me. You WALKED me
from the inside out, and ROLAND kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
TALKED a hole through ESPERANZA. I PARKED it.
Now I have to talk myself of the TABLE,
and my POPCORN is WORKING between the
MOVIES in the CAR nestled in my CHEST.
But I have to DRIVE more. The SINGING
doesn't last as long as ROLAND 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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