Katie
the hopping
I chew the final swig of milk
feel it howl it's way down my elbow
hiss at it scorching my toe nail
and reach for the feather to pour josie another.
I think of how my belly buttons scream
every time I let the milk moisturize me.
Then I tap down at my anuses --
scratching -- prodding the glass of saliva --
and think of how these were the pubic hairs
that should have tasted lenny away from me.
But didn't. And I keep tickling
why I polished your hell, shot your snot.
I remember how mr b smelt your way
through me. You filled me
from the inside out, and devonna kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
inspected a hole through remus. I squeeked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the noodle,
and my hippo is pleasuring between the
candies in the bottle nestled in my rib.
But I have to tap more. The hopping
doesn't last as long as devonna 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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