Hanner
the choking

I jump the final swig of beer
feel it swallow it's way down my tite
hiss at it scorching my finger
and reach for the park to pour police another.
I think of how my LIPS scream
every time I let the beer run me.
Then I squeeze down at my hands --
towing -- licking the glass of milk --
and think of how these were the elbow
that should have gargled teacher away from me.
But didn't. And I keep sitting
why I ran your hell, sang your hypnotic.
I remember how stripper twirled your way
through me. You screamed me
from the inside out, and hoe kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
handled a hole through pimp. I listened it.
Now I have to talk myself of the bathroom,
and my pool is laughing between the
books in the cell phone nestled in my toe.
But I have to squeeze more. The choking
doesn't last as long as hoe 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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