Hermetic Cloche

He hides his words
inside a Mason jar. Thinks

no one will see him
peel them off
his tongue with sugar-tongs,
slip them in, screw it

shut. Nothing to do
with lisps, though he had one.

Outgrew it the way
he outgrows you
and your sea glass
smooth voice. No air

in or out. His own breathing
drained of sound

the way an alarm
clock inside
a sealed bell jar
won’t wake you up.

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