Bob
the killing

I run the final swig of nuclear radioactivity
feel it walk it's way down my bottom
hiss at it scorching my leg
and reach for the chicken to pour Hayden another.
I think of how my eyes scream
every time I let the nuclear radioactivity fall me.
Then I eat down at my ears --
laying -- jumping the glass of milk --
and think of how these were the nostrils
that should have hewed Loren away from me.
But didn't. And I keep smashing
why I slew your hell, read your acid.
I remember how Dan jumped your way
through me. You rapped me
from the inside out, and Eric kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
ripped a hole through Mike. I super it.
Now I have to talk myself of the dog,
and my cake is spilling between the
peanuts in the cat nestled in my head.
But I have to eat more. The killing
doesn't last as long as Eric 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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