The Glass Bell Jar Poem by sherrie tappenden

the words come easy.
they always have.
they flow from me in great gulps of air,
filling the paper
with the life blood of expression,
spilling my soul across
white deserts,
forever charting a map.
gouging their unrelenting
indelible scratch,
forcing themselves into permanancy.

and the words
slide away from me,
slip from beneath the nib
into a glass bell jar
filling with the clink
of black typeface,
hitting against the pearlised
distorted edges
like marbles of speech
echoing together
into the smooth cavity,
forever contained
and kept on a shelf
until needed.