Tomorrow

tomorrow –
a day
where the few only matter
and all matters left to the few;
where leaders know
their choice cuts of meat
more intimately than their people

there are a few pastures left
although the pastures roll a little less
and there are trees
though they lean a little farther and
shade very little

somewhere there is a feast
and somewhere a child will fellatio for
the discarded apple core.
And the man in the gutter has turned to dust
waiting for the help

the last lovers kiss
the trumpet blares

your pain can be flushed away
everything is alright
tomorrow
does it worry you to be alone?