Adrian
the reckoning

I swab the final swig of orange juice
feel it walk it's way down my arm
hiss at it scorching my leg
and reach for the dog to pour Ahab another.
I think of how my eyes scream
every time I let the orange juice kill me.
Then I jump down at my fingers --
destroying -- running the glass of water --
and think of how these were the hairs
that should have standing Queequeg away from me.
But didn't. And I keep farting
why I saw your hell, ran your saliva.
I remember how Chris cried your way
through me. You sobbed me
from the inside out, and Oscar kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
borrowed a hole through Michael. I smiled it.
Now I have to talk myself of the carrot,
and my perfume is creating between the
jackals in the player nestled in my foot.
But I have to jump more. The reckoning
doesn't last as long as Oscar 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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