Illusions

A charming conversation tattles about
The quiet book store---of bass and alto.
It's deep, sincere. Nothing they say interests me.
But, it is wholly interesting to them.
And that interests me, because it is good.
It is something I wish people had often.
Finding their class, their clique, through buzz words
Which aligns them to each other's world.
It is not gossip. It is not crass, nor base.
It is not about money or sex but 
Common interests. And the boredom sets in.
Not mine, but theirs---the chinwag disrupted
By their better angels, to enable work.
"This is the only good Fleetwood Mac song."
Now they are speaking about common interests;
Common enemies. Common hatred.
Kyle comes in, and they are bored. I am not.

I listen, I interpolate, I hear...
Illusions. Now they speak of stories...
Are they visions? Are they real? Illusions?
Like when the tv seems to know my thoughts?

Illusions interrupt my meditation
Which are equally interesting to me.