How can consciousness account for what it isn't conscious of,
In its victory march of forgetfulness and blindness?
We've done something good for someone, we suppose
But what is known is only desultory,
Connected not by thought but by some instinct
We are right, as shown in our accounting of how the world reacts
To our ill-gotten gains with less than fatal punishments.
The unintended consequences all adhere to our side,
And what was never intended becomes the plan.
We know all this, despite the rolling eyes,
As we say to those we love the damnedest lies.
We're blessed to have forgotten
So we can show again what makes us worthy of this life:
That we can do a better job at everything next time.
