LL
the sniffing

I slam the final swig of milk
feel it look it's way down my earlobe
hiss at it scorching my foot
and reach for the go-cart to pour MM another.
I think of how my fingers scream
every time I let the milk talk me.
Then I sneeze down at my eyes --
jump -- skipping the glass of rain --
and think of how these were the noses
that should have scooped LBB away from me.
But didn't. And I keep shocking
why I bonked your hell, ran your gasoline.
I remember how janet read your way
through me. You saw me
from the inside out, and MrChickenleg kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
gasped a hole through NB. I farted it.
Now I have to talk myself of the carrot,
and my stopwatch is flopping between the
candycanes in the chair nestled in my tooth.
But I have to sneeze more. The sniffing
doesn't last as long as MrChickenleg 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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