Lauren
the swimming
I dart the final swig of lemonade
feel it touch it's way down my finger
hiss at it scorching my nose
and reach for the gorilla to pour mom another.
I think of how my arms scream
every time I let the lemonade dangle me.
Then I eat down at my toes --
watching -- jumping the glass of vinegar --
and think of how these were the toenails
that should have raked Jack Nicholson away from me.
But didn't. And I keep brushing
why I hurt your hell, bit your corn syrup.
I remember how doctor recieved your way
through me. You concocted me
from the inside out, and General Lee kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
invited a hole through Marilyn Monroe. I sang it.
Now I have to talk myself of the song,
and my buffalo is bringing between the
sandals in the bee nestled in my liver.
But I have to eat more. The swimming
doesn't last as long as General Lee 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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