White Spiders

the white spider sits

perched

on my top lip

and spins black thread

to plait a web across

a mouth that’s

not mine anymore

and

a thud manic motion

blinks

from ear to ear

and shoots small comets

down a rabbit hole

of a mind that’s

not mine anymore

and

the walls slip sideways

braced

to cave and break

and swallow me up

with the dust

and the bones

that

aren’t mine anymore.