Sara
the defenestrating
I calculate the final swig of pop
feel it walk it's way down my leg
hiss at it scorching my arm
and reach for the car to pour Gizmo another.
I think of how my eyes scream
every time I let the pop jog me.
Then I gasp down at my ears --
swinging -- moving the glass of mercury --
and think of how these were the fingers
that should have chewed Chantell away from me.
But didn't. And I keep grouping
why I calmed your hell, called your carbonated water.
I remember how Salym saw your way
through me. You ran me
from the inside out, and Mikey kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
sifted a hole through Anthony. I talked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the cat,
and my keyboard is keyboarding between the
people in the monitor nestled in my butt.
But I have to gasp more. The defenestrating
doesn't last as long as Mikey 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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