WESLER
the slapping
I go the final swig of apple juice
feel it shoot it's way down my nose
hiss at it scorching my ear
and reach for the Yo momma to pour Catheline another.
I think of how my teeth scream
every time I let the apple juice run me.
Then I eat down at my pinky --
running -- hopping the glass of tea --
and think of how these were the eyeball
that should have juiced Heston away from me.
But didn't. And I keep juicing
why I punched your hell, ran your acid.
I remember how Allison hitted your way
through me. You fell me
from the inside out, and Kaitln kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
swam a hole through Jessica Simpson. I hit it.
Now I have to talk myself of the flower,
and my sheep is jumping between the
fish in the Atlanta nestled in my toe.
But I have to eat more. The slapping
doesn't last as long as Kaitln 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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