When people talk about memories...(Edited)
A narrowing precision occurs,
like the focusing of a camera lens,
Pupils swelling and shrinking
with every thought,
I've seen it
in a dive bar
centered in the heart of the east village,
Sipping on an import,
Learning how “great” the 70s were,
How much life the streets had,
This city is still paradise for insomniacs
so why do people prefer relapse?
Was once not enough?
Some will tell you,
"It's to learn from the past."
Spare me,
I'm living proof of the contrary.
You can catch me,
on an off day,
narrowing, focusing, relapsing
back to a smile,
a smell,
a time,
when the word
simple was too complicated
too use.
I would say it was an easier time,
in reality…I know it wasn't,
People were still feuding and swearing,
I just turned a closed ear
more concerned with the battle between my G.I. Joe's
Maybe that's the secret,
to unconcern yourself with the big stuff,
It could even be why
we lose ourselves in memories,
to hide ourselves from
the panoramic vision of today,
Waiting, as the world counts
backwards from a hundred
until it starts seeking,
looking under the table of my seventh birthday party,
or behind the little red cabin in Lake George.
It will eventually find me
and drag me by the ears,
as if I were a dog
and the here and now is my owner, tired
of giving my leash slack
and scolding me for drifting just too far off.
like the focusing of a camera lens,
Pupils swelling and shrinking
with every thought,
I've seen it
in a dive bar
centered in the heart of the east village,
Sipping on an import,
Learning how “great” the 70s were,
How much life the streets had,
This city is still paradise for insomniacs
so why do people prefer relapse?
Was once not enough?
Some will tell you,
"It's to learn from the past."
Spare me,
I'm living proof of the contrary.
You can catch me,
on an off day,
narrowing, focusing, relapsing
back to a smile,
a smell,
a time,
when the word
simple was too complicated
too use.
I would say it was an easier time,
in reality…I know it wasn't,
People were still feuding and swearing,
I just turned a closed ear
more concerned with the battle between my G.I. Joe's
Maybe that's the secret,
to unconcern yourself with the big stuff,
It could even be why
we lose ourselves in memories,
to hide ourselves from
the panoramic vision of today,
Waiting, as the world counts
backwards from a hundred
until it starts seeking,
looking under the table of my seventh birthday party,
or behind the little red cabin in Lake George.
It will eventually find me
and drag me by the ears,
as if I were a dog
and the here and now is my owner, tired
of giving my leash slack
and scolding me for drifting just too far off.