clock tower in a jar

i like my time in the form of jelly beans.
i don't eat anything 
one at a time. 
let's take turns feeding the snakes.
they come to my bathtub where
i've been soaking a handful of tombstones.
walking down an alleyway at night
i used to fill my pockets
with the dusk's sharp orange.
cuts all over my hands.  
how do you learn to live
outside the memory of your main street?
i was only a girl & my body 
lost limbs here & there. all my teeth 
blew out of my head like dandelion tufts.
i tried to collect them
& stick each back in. of course
it was a mess. i sometimes open jam jars
just to find they are all
berries still & not boiled 
& spreadable at all. i like my time 
in ladels. poured down my throat.
i like my time taken back
when it suites me. the bar of soap
growing larger again. then, in the fridge,
the jar where the clock tower lives.
his chicken face & his mischeif.
i open him up just to remember 
what it felt like to live so full
of winter. how my bones were each 
balanced beams. the clock tower bites
so i close the lid before
he can get out. my town crawls
on all fours when the moon is not out.
takes the opportunity to bite 
each breath from my mouth.
an open window. a fear of heights.
the trees feasting on sunset.
shoeless in the portrait
of a window. i am not sure anymore 
what vessel to put this in.
i carve a raft just to burn it.
eat a pink jelly bean.
let the morning do its work.