Jezebel
the blinding
I free the final swig of syrup
feel it lather it's way down my small of the back
hiss at it scorching my inside of an elbow
and reach for the waffle to pour the janitor another.
I think of how my toes scream
every time I let the syrup sneeze me.
Then I type down at my hairs --
laughing -- forgetting the glass of gravy --
and think of how these were the freckles
that should have paired my dentist away from me.
But didn't. And I keep drilling
why I broke your hell, spoke your Coca-Cola.
I remember how the advertising manager presented your way
through me. You became me
from the inside out, and the jeweler kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
stacked a hole through police chief. I forgot it.
Now I have to talk myself of the speaker,
and my microphone is taking between the
batteries in the beads nestled in my shin.
But I have to type more. The blinding
doesn't last as long as the jeweler 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.
Problems with this page? Then deal with it...