Ross
the dieting
I moon the final swig of whey
feel it grope it's way down my uterus
hiss at it scorching my womb
and reach for the beehive to pour martyr another.
I think of how my ears scream
every time I let the whey ejaculate me.
Then I defecate down at my testicles --
smiling -- penetrating the glass of cranberry juice --
and think of how these were the buttocks
that should have masticated troll away from me.
But didn't. And I keep lactated
why I died your hell, gyrated your listerine.
I remember how rabbi urinated your way
through me. You farted me
from the inside out, and fudgie kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
belched a hole through minister. I grimacing it.
Now I have to talk myself of the dog,
and my vegetable is mooning between the
fruits in the hose nestled in my male member.
But I have to defecate more. The dieting
doesn't last as long as fudgie 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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