The Halley's comet of poems is coming to me with inescapable regularity these days. I'm actually urged to write a poem rather it just coming upon me suddenly like impending doom. So I'm hoping this one is not a sad poem. But then most poems I know are sad.
For all the maggies and the Julias
The Susans and the Reetas
we don't know what fate has in store for us
A man, a monkey or a mongoose
We waste our time in fruitless search
With jerks and assholes, wimps and washouts
So where is the man we want
Is he gone, or is he come or was he never there
For who knows what exists in the minds of men
What may be love is purely a word
What we may feel may just be blood pressure
Does it exist, truly, madly, deeply
One can never know what's real
Since the lines are blurred daily
And we lose our grasp on perspective
Can it be, will it be, won't it be
Who knows what goes on in the minds of men
The things we bring into existence by merely wishing
And the wish pretty soon becomes a bargain
Please, prompt, produce
For all the maggies and the Julias
The Susans and the Reetas
we don't know what fate has in store for us
A man, a monkey or a mongoose
We waste our time in fruitless search
With jerks and assholes, wimps and washouts
So where is the man we want
Is he gone, or is he come or was he never there
For who knows what exists in the minds of men
What may be love is purely a word
What we may feel may just be blood pressure
Does it exist, truly, madly, deeply
One can never know what's real
Since the lines are blurred daily
And we lose our grasp on perspective
Can it be, will it be, won't it be
Who knows what goes on in the minds of men
The things we bring into existence by merely wishing
And the wish pretty soon becomes a bargain
Please, prompt, produce
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