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.
my 2 cents.
illustratins on a stool.
men hide behind words.
women hide below pictures.
word and picture, mythical, magic mirror mirage.
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.