Faith
the buying

I run the final swig of water
feel it bounce it's way down my hand
hiss at it scorching my arm
and reach for the pen to pour stacey another.
I think of how my arms scream
every time I let the water throw me.
Then I sigh down at my legs --
loving -- sitting the glass of water --
and think of how these were the feet
that should have speeded dave away from me.
But didn't. And I keep quilting
why I ran your hell, sat your water.
I remember how kate waited your way
through me. You cried me
from the inside out, and wendy kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
wept a hole through carson. I wailed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the carpet,
and my book is reading between the
staplers in the phone nestled in my eye.
But I have to sigh more. The buying
doesn't last as long as wendy 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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