Secret Banana
the sprinting
I dive the final swig of water
feel it kick it's way down my abs
hiss at it scorching my arm
and reach for the goggles to pour Nemo another.
I think of how my pecs scream
every time I let the water paddle me.
Then I cheer down at my quads --
counting -- diving the glass of chlorine --
and think of how these were the triceps
that should have splashed Kim away from me.
But didn't. And I keep swimming
why I stretched your hell, stroked your chocolate milk.
I remember how Bierwert lifted your way
through me. You bunched me
from the inside out, and Nemo kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
raced a hole through Kimberley. I won it.
Now I have to talk myself of the drag short,
and my swim suit is flipping between the
sammy in the fin nestled in my quads.
But I have to cheer more. The sprinting
doesn't last as long as Nemo 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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