Friday, February 9, 2007

Choose an Illusion

I sway in a small New York café. Onstage
David Byrne is playing guitar. I am moving closer
drawn in by the sound. I am at the stage now.
He comes down. We dance.

It is only a dream. I wake up. Life's the same.
It is Friday. At six, I enter again a New York café
to read a few poems. He is there. David Byrne.
Just like the dream but our roles are reversed.

I am onstage; he moves to my words. Drifting
closer and closer, drawn in by the sound. He is
at the stage now. I come down. We dance.
It is only a dream. I wake up. Life's the same.

Yes, except this time I'm really awake.
And it really is Friday. But what do I know?
Whispers my mind: the dream ends at death.
Whispers my mind: deal with it.

by Kathi Georges

1 comment:

Ms. K said...

Very nice poem, three rooms.