The Alligator

The Alligator

 

This maddening silence is not your fault,

just a great struggle to connect

the red lights.

 

I fear opening the window

that the clouds of your sweat

may escape to rain on some other skin

that your long whiteness might fall

off some other old mattress pushed

against a wall.

 

It’s not that I didn’t sink into

want at first glance

because I did, and drowned.

It is that every night I dream

of your lonely death

and wake up puffy and ashen.

 

Blooming like blood in water

your mouth,

yellowing and bright

Is it getting clearer or darker?

Is it burning holes in your sight?

 

Each twitch and sighs rise

like red eyes from

that Florida swamp.

 

You fell while traipsing

on logs and slid through

a hole in the air

landed between

sea and fog.

 

So I called a plumber to dislodge

these balls of memory from my throat.

He came,

clad in ropes of unconsciousness.

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2 Comments

  1. wow this is really beautiful. a couple years ago?

    • Hehe thanks baby. Yeah I keep finding old poems I hadn’t posted, kinda like them out of order


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