Mollie
the crushing

I cook the final swig of beer
feel it swing it's way down my hand
hiss at it scorching my face
and reach for the water to pour Mollie another.
I think of how my boobs scream
every time I let the beer write me.
Then I pause down at my knees --
stoopin -- fucking the glass of soup --
and think of how these were the toes
that should have stuffing Kathy away from me.
But didn't. And I keep sticking
why I closed your hell, opened your kool aid.
I remember how Wyatt ran your way
through me. You hit me
from the inside out, and Brian kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
sang a hole through Wynonna. I danced it.
Now I have to talk myself of the couch,
and my carpet is sleuthing between the
files in the bed nestled in my heart.
But I have to pause more. The crushing
doesn't last as long as Brian 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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