the kissing

I slow the final swig of water
feel it fast it's way down my arm
hiss at it scorching my mouth
and reach for the dogs to pour mrs. mag another.
I think of how my legs scream
every time I let the water walk me.
Then I run down at my feet --
seeing -- jumping the glass of water --
and think of how these were the eyes
that should have kissed mrs. ash away from me.
But didn't. And I keep running
why I saw your hell, saw your soda.
I remember how mrs. guzi fed your way
through me. You heard me
from the inside out, and carolanne kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
ate a hole through andrea. I saw it.
Now I have to talk myself of the dog,
and my toad is jumping between the
dogs in the cat nestled in my nose.
But I have to run more. The kissing
doesn't last as long as carolanne 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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