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.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...