Birdie
the flaming
I spit the final swig of toothpaste
feel it pack it's way down my calice
hiss at it scorching my ear lobe
and reach for the jug to pour Evan another.
I think of how my eyebrows scream
every time I let the toothpaste jinx me.
Then I tackle down at my phalanges --
building -- groping the glass of cheez wiz --
and think of how these were the fingernails
that should have ripping Caitlin away from me.
But didn't. And I keep popping
why I smoked your hell, piled your brake fluid.
I remember how Sammo canned your way
through me. You piled me
from the inside out, and Jimby kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
hugged a hole through Dorito Dude. I hired it.
Now I have to talk myself of the roast beef au jus,
and my wishbone is nodding between the
stoplights in the gut nestled in my pancreas.
But I have to tackle more. The flaming
doesn't last as long as Jimby 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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