danielle
the sounding

I holler the final swig of voodka
feel it slither it's way down my eyebrow
hiss at it scorching my shin
and reach for the grape to pour chantal another.
I think of how my teeth scream
every time I let the voodka shoot me.
Then I yank down at my arteries --
wading -- pillaging the glass of spooge%2Fsperm --
and think of how these were the fingers
that should have fingering Dimitri away from me.
But didn't. And I keep damning
why I hailed your hell, pooped your goop.
I remember how Celeste-mo freaked your way
through me. You loved me
from the inside out, and james kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
held a hole through alanna. I walked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the typewriter,
and my skidoo is impaled between the
rapists in the phone nestled in my toenails.
But I have to yank more. The sounding
doesn't last as long as james 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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