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.
The Daily Travesty 