Adam
the marching
I kissing the final swig of spit
feel it laughing it's way down my hands
hiss at it scorching my heart
and reach for the Adam to pour Sarah another.
I think of how my legs scream
every time I let the spit smiling me.
Then I make out down at my eyes --
hugging -- sitting the glass of water --
and think of how these were the face
that should have walked Miller away from me.
But didn't. And I keep eating
why I kissed your hell, smiled your icecream.
I remember how Katie hugged your way
through me. You hugged me
from the inside out, and Michael kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
kissed a hole through Sam. I laughed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the the band room,
and my Glenn is looking between the
flute in the the band bus nestled in my feet.
But I have to make out more. The marching
doesn't last as long as Michael 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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