Brandi
the crapping

I walk the final swig of pee
feel it shook it's way down my knee
hiss at it scorching my nose
and reach for the house to pour mail man another.
I think of how my toes scream
every time I let the pee stinky me.
Then I scary down at my fingernails --
washing -- picking the glass of beer --
and think of how these were the butt
that should have pushed nurse away from me.
But didn't. And I keep needing
why I packed your hell, cut your soap.
I remember how meagan pushed your way
through me. You needed me
from the inside out, and stephanie kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
talked a hole through teacher. I typed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the cat,
and my booger is singing between the
dogs in the cellphone nestled in my feet.
But I have to scary more. The crapping
doesn't last as long as stephanie 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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