eriol
the finding
I dream the final swig of cherry cola
feel it design it's way down my toe
hiss at it scorching my armpit
and reach for the pillow to pour senator another.
I think of how my eyelashes scream
every time I let the cherry cola screw me.
Then I sleep down at my fingernails --
working -- screaming the glass of coffee --
and think of how these were the knees
that should have smoked the Pope away from me.
But didn't. And I keep cooking
why I ran your hell, microwaved your apple cider vinegar.
I remember how boss felt your way
through me. You yelled me
from the inside out, and high school quarterback kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
pointed a hole through manicurist. I threw it.
Now I have to talk myself of the backpack,
and my bottle is washing between the
greeting cards in the cord nestled in my cheek.
But I have to sleep more. The finding
doesn't last as long as high school quarterback 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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