I heard you last night,
I swear, I really did.

It was pleasant, I promise you,
it was you laughing and screaming,
and I woke up, I jumped,
I turned over and saw nothing.

But it was so real, Ira.
I feel you in my shoulder blades.

You with your worldly sensibilities,
and me, with nothing but my mixtapes
but I offered you them,
and I hope you heard all the way through.

I looked up, startled, and I hoped to find this all was a dream,
But it wasn't and I know you are here, in between.

Could facebook be more invasive?
Could we somehow, become more isolated and consumer driven?
Could this be a typical Thursday?
Could Leslie Feist really exist?
Can anyone really exist?



Thanks Sky.

Sigh...