Ronnie
the yearning
I walk the final swig of milk
feel it talk it's way down my leg
hiss at it scorching my taco
and reach for the bird to pour diego another.
I think of how my head and toenail scream
every time I let the milk chicken me.
Then I tooti down at my moustache --
baking -- stooping the glass of pop --
and think of how these were the quanzit hut
that should have walked Cameron away from me.
But didn't. And I keep high fiving
why I thought your hell, dodied your beer.
I remember how Ronnie poked your way
through me. You walloped me
from the inside out, and Adam kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
wimpyed a hole through Trevor. I douchstrousenblingwennafastalighenbushravagloched it.
Now I have to talk myself of the crab,
and my fish is running between the
mooses in the dog nestled in my beard.
But I have to tooti more. The yearning
doesn't last as long as Adam 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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