Megan
the kicking
I hop the final swig of urin
feel it breast feed it's way down my elbow
hiss at it scorching my double chin
and reach for the cook book to pour raggedy ann another.
I think of how my nipples scream
every time I let the urin snort me.
Then I dig down at my craked heels --
sniffing -- pigging out the glass of runny bunny poop --
and think of how these were the tummies
that should have printing charlie brown away from me.
But didn't. And I keep rocking
why I licke your hell, squat your melted yello snow.
I remember how Jerry shovelled your way
through me. You tickled me
from the inside out, and male nurse kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
gambled a hole through Aunt Jemimia. I drank it.
Now I have to talk myself of the little straw hut,
and my ball is breathing between the
slurpies in the bomb nestled in my toe.
But I have to dig more. The kicking
doesn't last as long as male nurse 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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