stefan
the bobiling

I run the final swig of water
feel it write it's way down my heart
hiss at it scorching my kidne
and reach for the hat to pour jim another.
I think of how my liver scream
every time I let the water twist me.
Then I go down at my organ --
studying -- hopping the glass of pepsi --
and think of how these were the brain
that should have hopped brayden away from me.
But didn't. And I keep joining
why I hopped your hell, joined your coke.
I remember how caral leaped your way
through me. You rolled me
from the inside out, and bill kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
worked a hole through tom. I wrote it.
Now I have to talk myself of the cake,
and my book is hopping between the
infiniti in the book nestled in my spine.
But I have to go more. The bobiling
doesn't last as long as bill 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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