We are lazy-eyed romantics
Who, slothful, deign to leer
At sexy ghosts like future, past,
But seldom now or here.
We seek the worldly pleasures
That we, in moments, lack
Knowing we once had them
And hoping they’ll come back.
And like the perfect lover
The present sees us gaze
At a future that will never come
And long-forgotten days
Yet gives us still all that we need,
Supports in every way.
I write so we’ll requite the love
Of the miracle that is Today.
“Do you see what I see”
Is a stupid thing to ask,
For though the subject we both see
May be a boot or flask
I see it in the sunset
Flanked by gorgeous fall of night
But by virtue of an angle
You see it framed by walls of white.
I can see what you see
And you can see what I.
We can say “that is a boot”
Though we each use a different eye.
So why not on social matters
Cannot we likewise more agree
That if a thing’s more beautiful
To you than ’tis to me
That the thing itself objectively
Is, regardless, unaffected?
Because it doesn’t help dividers
Unite short-sight to get elected.
Release your expectations,
Let your preconceptions go,
And feel the endless universe
Again begin to flow
And the morons who surround you
And the stupid crap they say
Will be caught in freedom’s current
And finally wash away.
So give up on the must haves,
The shoulds, the oughts, the wants,
Ignore the could-be-betters
And the little human taunts.
Give up on perfection,
On how “great” looks in your mind
And you’ll find new satisfaction
On the blank slate left behind.
Nixon heard of the Laffer curve
And thought it was a joke.
Reagan heard of the Laffer curve
And said “that’s why we’re broke!”
Obama heard of the Laffer curve
And asked “what did you smoke?”
Trump heard of the Laffer curve
And said “this is bigly woke!”
Most of you heard of the Laffer curve
For the first time just now,
You don’t know what it is
Or how it affects your chow.
So please look up the Laffer curve
So as to be better informed
And we can get to fixing
All the folks who’ve been social-normed.
Our lives are like a song
In a language we don’t know.
Our feet tap to the beat of the world
When we feel that special flow.
It starts out as a whisper
And builds into the cry
Of a baby with the will to sing
But no knowledge how or why.
It may turn many corners.
It changes every verse.
The song always gets better
Even if it may sound worse.
Some songs will stop too suddenly
And some go on too long.
Since we don’t know what we’re singing
Why care if something’s wrong?
You can sing however’s comfortable.
When all is said and sung
I hope I’m singing nonsense
‘Til I get my iron lung!
Filed under Lyrics, Poems