Jackie
the growing

I strides the final swig of milk
feel it dances it's way down my ear
hiss at it scorching my chest
and reach for the limb to pour killer another.
I think of how my eyes scream
every time I let the milk lopes me.
Then I tread down at my knees --
drooping -- darkening the glass of rain --
and think of how these were the shoulders
that should have streamed reader away from me.
But didn't. And I keep screaming
why I whispered your hell, lowered your water.
I remember how sage hushed your way
through me. You were me
from the inside out, and lover kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
stilled a hole through she. I blared it.
Now I have to talk myself of the loam,
and my wind is daring between the
droplets in the stalk nestled in my hair.
But I have to tread more. The growing
doesn't last as long as lover 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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