the running
Brina
i hit the final swig of soda
feel it bite its way down my arm
hiss at it schorching my torso
and reach for the tree
to pour Pres. Clinton another.
i think of how my ears barked
every time i smoke the water.
then i look hown at my eyes
taking - calling that glass poison -
and think of how these were the ears
that should have pushed Ricky Lake away from me.
and i keep crying
whay i ate your milk, ate your poison.
i think of how Clint Eastwood
begged his way through me,
used me from the inside out, and i
kept coming bak. i let Roseanne
talk though me, and now she
drove a hole right through Brad Pitt.
I liked it. Now I have to turn myself from you,
and my car is jumping in the house
in the bush nestled in my toe.
but i have to walk sky. the winking
doesn't last as long as Pres. Clinton does.
from the original poem:
the burning
by janet kuypers
i take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn its 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 that 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 wonder
why i took your hell, took your poison.
you burned your way through me, and
i kept coming back. i let you infect me,
and now you've burned a hole right 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.