Terry
the prancing

I jump the final swig of drool
feel it scratch it's way down my vagina
hiss at it scorching my ear
and reach for the china to pour mother another.
I think of how my nose scream
every time I let the drool catch me.
Then I ass down at my toe --
licking -- picking the glass of urine --
and think of how these were the butt
that should have carried lani away from me.
But didn't. And I keep singing
why I ran your hell, farted your koolaid.
I remember how pam blinked your way
through me. You jolted me
from the inside out, and kc kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
skipped a hole through max. I licked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the Italy,
and my castro is speaking between the
carrots in the tony nestled in my head.
But I have to ass more. The prancing
doesn't last as long as kc 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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