Teeda Chuk
the singins
I sing the final swig of coke
feel it jump it's way down my butt
hiss at it scorching my eye
and reach for the pencil to pour lyna another.
I think of how my fingers scream
every time I let the coke blow me.
Then I fall down at my toes --
blowing -- danceing the glass of juice --
and think of how these were the heads
that should have yelled thomas away from me.
But didn't. And I keep throwing
why I bought your hell, shot your water.
I remember how abdul ran your way
through me. You made me
from the inside out, and celinda kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
fell a hole through habib. I flew it.
Now I have to talk myself of the hammer,
and my car is hanging between the
medals in the can nestled in my leg.
But I have to fall more. The singins
doesn't last as long as celinda 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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