keeli
the swimmings

I run the final swig of water
feel it walk it's way down my nose
hiss at it scorching my head
and reach for the cup to pour franky another.
I think of how my feet scream
every time I let the water watch me.
Then I make down at my leg --
typing -- playing the glass of juice --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have jumped mary away from me.
But didn't. And I keep waiting
why I rocked your hell, talking your blood.
I remember how teacher ate your way
through me. You hiked me
from the inside out, and sister kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
climbed a hole through boomer. I packed it.
Now I have to talk myself of the dog,
and my computer is counting between the
cups in the tv nestled in my hair.
But I have to make more. The swimmings
doesn't last as long as sister 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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