Karen
the scratching
I smile the final swig of coconut milk
feel it scratch it's way down my finger
hiss at it scorching my foot
and reach for the dictionary to pour george bush another.
I think of how my elbow scream
every time I let the coconut milk crawl me.
Then I skip down at my femur --
scarfing -- fishing the glass of piss --
and think of how these were the liver
that should have cracked fonzie away from me.
But didn't. And I keep fixing
why I cheated your hell, ran your tomato juice.
I remember how beaver cleaver laughed your way
through me. You drank me
from the inside out, and stan morley kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
watched a hole through Mr.T. I screamed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the canada,
and my hockey rink is pooted between the
bananas in the fork nestled in my jaw.
But I have to skip more. The scratching
doesn't last as long as stan morley 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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