Poem in Which I Am A Geode

I still haven’t turned into a ladybug
but woke up                                  as a geode

swimming across                       an over-saturated lake
where nothing reeks of piss: or of fish: or of lake––
it smells like                   peach iced tea
my vision magnified                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               & blurred
as if warped through                                  yellow starfish:
everything sweet & light                       & sweet & light              like a sun:

a sun englobed by a geode

I am a geode                     as big as my previous body:
occasionally                                                   I crash and rattle
against rocks                 who are less valuable                       than I am.
Everything glitters as if kissed with consciousness
and my skin is still skin
but without structure                                                       or melanin.

How to erase consciousness
if I am still as big
as my previous body
& heavier & more accountable                      & if I must float
across the river.                Quick, quicker.       You say:
geode geode, decelerate

But have you ever lived inside a volcano?

Consciousness is nothing                                   but a nacreous scale on the tail
of the rainbow fish
or the light that escapes                                       my center.
If I had to say two words                                   for the rest of my life
they would not be
                                                           consciousness, consciousness.

Nor would they be
                                                                                     geode geode––
they would be
                                                                     particle accelerator

Aria Aber