The bell jar
cracks like lightning,
spiders in the glass
catching spritely blue electrons
swirling, like flies in a web-shaking dance.
She forgot her face when the glass smashed,
erased, as it shattered fine as dust.
Wiped away the cobwebs like a
dried up mask revealing nothing.
Flat, smooth, flushed flesh
and muffled breathing.
She fell off a shelf when she was very young,
a lost and errant broom of barbs swept
her under dirty rugs.
She lay there on her back for years
bitterly alone
until a disembodied voice
a crow, a crone
found her in a bell jar safe sound.
YOU ARE READING
Confusion in Underground Clouds
PoetryThis is a collection of assorted poems, detailing one consciousness extending and swirling into another, and another, and another.
