the boarding
I look the final swig of tea
feel it act it's way down my nose
hiss at it scorching my ear
and reach for the girl to pour Aunt Helen another.
I think of how my toes scream
every time I let the tea broke me.
Then I touch down at my fingers --
lurching -- bolting the glass of water --
and think of how these were the legs
that should have watched Jett away from me.
But didn't. And I keep skating
why I knew your hell, matched your soda.
I remember how Nan made your way
through me. You cooked me
from the inside out, and Taylor kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
jumped a hole through Santana. I fell it.
Now I have to talk myself of the sugar,
and my cookie is smelling between the
horses in the bear nestled in my elbow.
But I have to touch more. The boarding
doesn't last as long as Taylor 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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