Kevin
the strengthening
I resist the final swig of mercury
feel it refuse it's way down my eye
hiss at it scorching my ear
and reach for the scar to pour Caesar another.
I think of how my limbs scream
every time I let the mercury call me.
Then I realize down at my toes --
reasoning -- frightening the glass of pink lemonade --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have seasoned Caesar away from me.
But didn't. And I keep writhing
why I wiggled your hell, exiting your mercury.
I remember how the geese slapped your way
through me. You slapped me
from the inside out, and the messengers kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
eyed a hole through Caesar. I sought it.
Now I have to talk myself of the telephone booth,
and my thought is running between the
the geese in the mice nestled in my mind.
But I have to realize more. The strengthening
doesn't last as long as the messengers 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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