Ashley
the flopping

I beat the final swig of mountain dew
feel it smite it's way down my toenail
hiss at it scorching my earlobe
and reach for the fish to pour Paul another.
I think of how my ribs scream
every time I let the mountain dew snort me.
Then I scrounge down at my kidneys --
digging -- chunking the glass of bug juice --
and think of how these were the noses
that should have spitted James Williams away from me.
But didn't. And I keep barking
why I ate your hell, flip your milk.
I remember how Mike scribble your way
through me. You bake me
from the inside out, and Tony kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
smell a hole through Dad. I rinse it.
Now I have to talk myself of the hippo,
and my puppy is racing between the
bells in the hammer nestled in my toe.
But I have to scrounge more. The flopping
doesn't last as long as Tony 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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