The Bell Jar

Every man is an island.

Every life is in a sea of becoming.

In fall

I will unearth the truth for you, put it

on the side table. Once your gut starts to rebel,

consume it hourly. Maybe the tides will bring you close

to the other side of prejudice.

Unless, the fist-sized heart

keeps pushing against it

we can all stand together, stripped

frail figures in an exalted scene, gazing

at our outstretched hands, wanting to touch

more than we can reach.

There should be a way out of this bell jar,

relief from that sourness

which human isolation brings.

Remember,

the smallest indivisible human unit is two.

Alone, there is no forward movement.