John
the squating

I kiss the final swig of perm
feel it hump it's way down my pns
hiss at it scorching my elbow
and reach for the tounge to pour amanda another.
I think of how my toes scream
every time I let the perm rub me.
Then I srub down at my fingers --
humping -- licking the glass of perm --
and think of how these were the buts
that should have jiggled miraiah carey away from me.
But didn't. And I keep jumping
why I ran your hell, ran your gasoline.
I remember how gabe sat your way
through me. You ran me
from the inside out, and akon kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
ran a hole through gabe ellis. I ran it.
Now I have to talk myself of the bob,
and my tea bag is drooling between the
warthogs in the v nestled in my ear.
But I have to srub more. The squating
doesn't last as long as akon 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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