Tiffany Jayde Dutton
the Singing
I Run the final swig of Apple Juice
feel it Fall it's way down my Big Toe
hiss at it scorching my Leg
and reach for the Hat to pour Mackenzie Carter another.
I think of how my Arms scream
every time I let the Apple Juice Cry me.
Then I Brag down at my Fingers --
Smiling -- Flying the glass of Salt Water --
and think of how these were the Thighs
that should have Lied Jonathan Strouth away from me.
But didn't. And I keep Yelling
why I Stopped your hell, Hit your Urine.
I remember how Mr. Davis Smelled your way
through me. You kicked me
from the inside out, and Mr. Davidson kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
Licked a hole through Mikie Mullins. I Ate it.
Now I have to talk myself of the chicken,
and my apple pie is kicking between the
Testicles in the nuts nestled in my Belly Button.
But I have to Brag more. The Singing
doesn't last as long as Mr. Davidson 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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