MARIA%21%21%21
the pulsating
I twitch the final swig of OJ
feel it spy it's way down my knee
hiss at it scorching my toe
and reach for the barracuda to pour Adam another.
I think of how my spleens scream
every time I let the OJ vaporize me.
Then I GO down at my eyebrows --
renting -- deflating the glass of runny yogurt --
and think of how these were the skins
that should have buttressed Lou away from me.
But didn't. And I keep ringing
why I brought your hell, rang your batter.
I remember how I.M. Pei gesticulated your way
through me. You purged me
from the inside out, and Alf kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
screamed a hole through Leyland. I spelled it.
Now I have to talk myself of the bamboo,
and my chochke is bartering between the
goobers in the tree nestled in my ear.
But I have to GO more. The pulsating
doesn't last as long as Alf 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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