the alligator beneath my wings

i.

my daddy was an alligator wrastler.

i was never dangerous enough or verdant enough to woo.

i used to try to distract him from his gator grappling

with one girl synchronized aquatic ballets

or dangling baby salamanders from my ear lobes.

listen to me daddy,

see me daddy,

pappa, can you hear me,

as you climb the jacob’s ladder out from beneath our toes as we steal

your amber blush rose cross to the lotus rich marsh in the azure.

ii.

my 2 cents.

illustratins on a stool.

men hide behind words.

women hide below pictures.

word and picture, mythical, magic mirror mirage.

iii.

where is the third nail?

“get off the cross, mary, we need the wood!”

he wonders if it  is late enough at night for morning wood.

he silently admonishes him for being a have playing

he imagines what having him tastes like.

nails across buttocks.

persecution sipped slowly.

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will he remember me?

i watched the slow motion

impact of him with the car.

the thump turned my eyes

from the red and green explosions.

did the fireworks drive him into the street?

i was the one who stood next to

his writhing body, bending over

not knowing what to say or do.

everyone told me to get back.

i told him it would be ok.

i wonder if he heard me.

i wonder if he already knew.

i wonder if he will remember me

in heaven or as a new fig tree.