Solitary Confinement

The woman I loved yawned

as I achieved an orgasm received

from the one who loved me

although she’d mistaken

me for someone else.


My wife gave birth

to a son who grew

up to kill me, 

but at least it wasn’t

in cold blood, and I taught

him how to be 

a good shot.


The human heart lives in a cage.

The brain is stuck inside a case.

The earth is wrapped in concrete straps

like a patient in a psych ward,

ready to snap.


Walls separate us from one another

and sometimes from ourselves.  We lob

word balloons over the walls

and try to read each other’s thoughts

in clouds that pass overhead

before they dissolve like our own.


Each one of us lives in a cell.

We’re told we’re interconnected

before we’re reminded

we’re all alone.


So which one is it?


Will the real truth 

please stand up

before we have to lie

down forever, never

to hear the answer

to the eternal riddle,

the question that makes

existence such a mess,

an ever-abiding source

of sorrow and stress?


Or must we always endure

this nonsense of not

knowing, pulled 

in so many directions

at once, like a marionette

at a jackal convention?


3 thoughts on “Solitary Confinement

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