Girl with a Pearl Earthling

The girl with a pearl earthling

in a crystal bell jar, kept so plumply fed.

She is not a ghost.

She’s not departed.

She is what’s tucked behind the ear

of an aching swain’s head.

She is what pulls the taffy teeth,

what bleeds the gums, 

what bites what’s said.

It is spectacular to see her,

all dimpled chin and pointing hands

indicating demarcations beyond which

no wild hoof meets land —

beyond which the wildness is itself a lightness

untethering flight from mechanics of man.

It is a hydroponic nutrient solution she flings

as she shakes off the dew of the dead, dumb day.

Lucky enough to be near her body is lucky enough

to nibble and sate, sate, sate.

Say thoughts for the bell jar.

Say thoughts to be captured.

Say thoughts to be held by her once, in her way.

Say thoughts to be nacreous naked,

not mineral dust she just scoops up

and scatters away, scatters away.

The girl with a pearl earthling

in a crystal bell jar, kept so plumply fed.

She is not a ghost.

She'll not depart yet.

She is what’s tucked behind the ear

of an aching swain’s head.

She is not not not a ghost.

She’s not departed.

She’s not departed.