tracy
the shoving

I lift the final swig of gas
feel it eat it's way down my anus
hiss at it scorching my belly button
and reach for the toilet bowl to pour ariane another.
I think of how my feet scream
every time I let the gas cheat me.
Then I kill down at my boobs --
helping -- licking the glass of piss --
and think of how these were the hips
that should have shocked tania away from me.
But didn't. And I keep sucking
why I shoot your hell, fucked your oil.
I remember how pope taste your way
through me. You shited me
from the inside out, and alain kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
fited a hole through joey. I whiped it.
Now I have to talk myself of the can,
and my paper is fucking between the
staples in the wrench nestled in my ass.
But I have to kill more. The shoving
doesn't last as long as alain 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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