I Dreamed of Beaches

This world isn't fast enough for me, Per se: I quit smoking
And then? nothing new...I get bored, I get lonely
In what time exist my long dead friends and acquaintances
That come waving in memory or pass by fleetingly glimpsed
In the face of another, or by my own behavior reflected
What world exists in penthouse suite of freedom towers
And what hell is bequeathed beneath the bridge of golden gates

Seemingly the world is connected to history, our history
And to every other history-like artifact from worlds past
The dead, they say can travel there and replay
The living dream the future here in present stay
And only our pets live in the now of small worlds
In a story of cloudy atlases and obfuscated prophecy

But what I meant to say if you'll forgive me,
We are all connected with Geography,
Or DNA, or Law, or Market, or Friends, or Era
Through our sadness and our joys
Through time spent together
Through tasting of a lemon sorbet
Or the smell of a red red rose
Or reflection of self-same metaphor
Even the very being of us, came from the same star.
Whom exploded years ago in Age past recollection.

And in that Geography of Time
Some wallow in self-pity
While others each night tell themselves
           "tomorrow will be a great day"
Me? I think this, "but tomorrow I'll be someplace else"
I'll have the memory, though, I'll wonder and wander
and escape both bad and good lives I could have lived.

For life isn't as continuous for me as it is for you
By trick of the eye, the fat slim or the store reopens
The devil is in us, all along... and friends play games.
I know now why I can't be content, read it in a book.
I also know why you have no time to read this,
Because you don't believe it's in your best interest.
Who cares, right?

Who cares if there's geography to time, a logic in rhyme,
A connection in metaphor, or discovery in allegory
Well, Because it's you, and it's only ever been you
That had the chance to make things right,
As I'm perfectly wrinkled and don't really play games, anymore.