jon
the evicting
I expand the final swig of paint
feel it exert it's way down my arm
hiss at it scorching my breasts
and reach for the evidence to pour angela another.
I think of how my ear eyes scream
every time I let the paint expect me.
Then I excuse down at my hair skin --
exploding -- evolving the glass of water --
and think of how these were the fingers toes
that should have exposed albert away from me.
But didn't. And I keep expressing
why I evolved your hell, exterminated your gas.
I remember how bridget excavated your way
through me. You exulted me
from the inside out, and anthony kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
equated a hole through ann. I erased it.
Now I have to talk myself of the example,
and my escalator is executed between the
estates in the exercise nestled in my tongue.
But I have to excuse more. The evicting
doesn't last as long as anthony 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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