At the Moment
At the moment, there’s a bullet spiraling through the air with someone’s name on it, in a war zone, in the back alleys of Chicago; it’s all the same.
There’s a pig in a slaughterhouse scared shitless knowing she’s about to lose her life, silenced only by a razor-sharp knife.
There’s a sweaty politician in a smoky back room of some stinking dive taking bribes and snorting coke.
There’s a teenage boy in his room crying his heart out over the girl who dumped him for his best friend, his finger on the trigger.
There’s a circus elephant chained to a stake reminiscing about his life back in the Serengeti with his family.
There’s a highway patrolman on the roadside urging a favor from a drop-dead gorgeous blond in a sleek convertible.
There’s a brook filling with toxic chemicals spewed by some second rate factory saving a few bucks on proper disposal.
There’s a neglected housewife screwing the pool guy while her husband’s in Las Vegas on “business” screwing his secretary.
There’s a shark lying motionless on the ocean floor, but his fins, they say, makes good soup.
There’s you and me sitting at a table beneath a tree at an open-air cafe on a pleasant morning having a cup of overpriced coffee. You pay the tip. Then we hail a cab to Jupiter, where we bath in a warm celestial pool of glittering goo and watch turquoise stars and golden orbs shoot across the fiery sky. 10,000 years later, we hop a double-decker bus back to earth. Back to the same old crap at the moment.