LaTerra
the Shaking
I run the final swig of juice
feel it play it's way down my glutiusmaximus
hiss at it scorching my femur
and reach for the Tentreon to pour LaTerra another.
I think of how my radius scream
every time I let the juice slurrping me.
Then I kicking down at my patela --
kissing -- huging the glass of water --
and think of how these were the ulna
that should have flipped Jaden away from me.
But didn't. And I keep jumping
why I looked your hell, shook your limeanade.
I remember how Russell sleept your way
through me. You napped me
from the inside out, and Oscar kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
licked a hole through Tyler. I Hugged it.
Now I have to talk myself of the LaTerra,
and my Ebonye is laughing between the
puppies in the RedLobstor nestled in my tarsals.
But I have to kicking more. The Shaking
doesn't last as long as Oscar 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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