the shovelling
S. Carlsen
I trample the final swig of oil
feel it wrestle it's way down my nose
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the sound to pour Raegun another.
I think of how my limbs trickle
every time I let the seawater dance me.
Then I weather down at my ears and eyes --
whistling -- escaping the glass of milk --
and think of how these were the breasts
that should have landed you away from a woman.
But didn't. And I keep leaping to
why I wept your hell, wept your sludge.
I remember how you shovelled your way
through me. the chaild ran to me
from the inside out, and I kept trying back.
I let Raegun jump me, and now you've
fallen in a hole through Raegun. I slept it.
Now I have to peer myself of the dog,
and my funnel is schlepping between the
razor in the cat nestled in my knee.
But I have to bang more. The haunting
doesn't last as long as Raegun does.
the burning
Janet Kuypers
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.