robert
the sleep
I smell the final swig of cough syrup
feel it stand it's way down my heart
hiss at it scorching my stomach
and reach for the chair to pour crystal another.
I think of how my arms scream
every time I let the cough syrup talk me.
Then I walk down at my legs --
planting -- eat the glass of nothing --
and think of how these were the toe nails
that should have planted judy away from me.
But didn't. And I keep showering
why I played your hell, cooked your coffee.
I remember how Margerate learned your way
through me. You ate me
from the inside out, and connie kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
watched a hole through norma. I gave it.
Now I have to talk myself of the tv,
and my lunch box is watching between the
tables in the peas nestled in my head.
But I have to walk more. The sleep
doesn't last as long as connie 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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