tom
the juggling
I move the final swig of water
feel it swim it's way down my belly button
hiss at it scorching my toenail
and reach for the banana to pour luke another.
I think of how my eyes scream
every time I let the water shot me.
Then I run down at my nostrils --
shooting -- killing the glass of water --
and think of how these were the fingers
that should have shot luke away from me.
But didn't. And I keep jumping
why I swam your hell, threw your petrol.
I remember how peter kicked your way
through me. You punched me
from the inside out, and tom brown kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
elbowed a hole through yoshi. I juggled it.
Now I have to talk myself of the xbox,
and my gamecube is jumping between the
bananas in the computers nestled in my ear.
But I have to run more. The juggling
doesn't last as long as tom brown 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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