There’s a man in a jar
on the high shelf. Not preserved,
not pickled. Just sitting,
alive (it’s claimed), walled off,
visible. Maybe he’s angry,
maybe terrified. Maybe
he’s feeling an emotion unique
to the walled off, the exhibited,
the left on a shelf. It would be good
to have such an emotion — not to
have it for yourself, not to feel it,
but it needs to be described.
It’s new to us, new to humanity. It’s
a function of how so many of us are
connected without having any feelings
for each other. We fake it a lot, though.
Perhaps the man in the jar on the shelf
is tired of faking. He’s rocking the jar
now. He’s getting it closer and closer
to the edge. It’s going to fall and those
pieces are going everywhere
and chances are
he dies in the fall.