Justine
the running
I shittting the final swig of pee
feel it spilling it's way down my armpit
hiss at it scorching my toe
and reach for the poncho to pour Andrea another.
I think of how my knee scream
every time I let the pee pushing me.
Then I jumping down at my Bum --
scooping -- chanting the glass of hot chocolate --
and think of how these were the finger
that should have spotted Courtney away from me.
But didn't. And I keep tooting
why I shot your hell, caught your soup.
I remember how Karley saw your way
through me. You forgot me
from the inside out, and Jo kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
ran a hole through Mr.Trick. I spoke it.
Now I have to talk myself of the California,
and my spoon is spooning between the
boy in the desk nestled in my mouth.
But I have to jumping more. The running
doesn't last as long as Jo 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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