Meatballs in Space

I asked my boss for a raise. a simple adjustment on account of inflation

numbers blowing up faster than a brigade of hot air balloons in Tucson

sitting bumper to bumper, exhausting fumes, siphoning down black coffee

the lubricant for the hammering pistons of my combustion engine for a brain

the reflected taillights flashing on and off, put my head into a revving buzz

a type of mental Zen bottled up by Buddhist monks and philosophers in bubbled bathtubs

I found a key hiding in those bright red lights, a skeleton fit to open any door I choose

a countdown starts the second we enter this world, through a hole much too small

fittingly perched about two inches from an asshole, a great joke by evolution

that very next moment we start our descent into the eternity of nothingness

the vessel that accommodated our souls is then converted to a formaldehyde laced worm food

where we become a soil of blue goo and fertile dirt as we leave our new invertebrate home

we then exit through an even smaller hole than the one we entered through

having endured thousands of miles and millions of seconds of alternating misery and bliss

just to travel two inches to another asshole, the microscopic opening in a slime string

I ponder this revelation of enlightenment, specifically my own place within this circle

I am the livestock of the universe, farmed as the nutritional sustenance of a nightcrawler

I share the same fate of my maker, gouged, and curled around a barbed hook before being cast away

I suppose that makes me and you, and we and them, just a provision of meatballs floating in space

high in this state of taillight induced nirvana I become conscious of the hook sticking through me

only through sedated calmness and resolve did I keep from squirming when I noticed the spines

holding me in place to be cast soon by the withered old fisherman called Death, but I call Motherfucker

we are as defenseless against this Motherfucker as an ant to the bottom of a boot subjected to gravity

I asked my boss for a raise on the day I finally became unable to stop myself from wriggling

just a simple adjustment on account of the hook now held in the fish grimed hands and ready to be cast

he concurred to my request of financial compensation, on account of our misery and pending swim

he said, don’t dig too deep or you’ll end up buried alive

but all I could see was that he was starting to squirm