I always liked Bonnie. I think every man likes Bonnie. And every man has lost one just like her.

Hallucination #2

Last night I heard you call my name.
You really weren’t there, of course;
you were so long ago and far away
I doubt you remember me or need to.
But your cry’s distinct, faint but clear.
It begs and pleads, a tone so sad
I want to reply and comfort you, to hear
your startled voice confess you hear me answer.
But even in my fantasy I know it isn’t you.

That voice comes from deep inside my skull,
that emptiness between daydream and memory.
I hear it call often, as I fall asleep or slowly wake,
when I travel, or when lonely, deep in thought.
I sometimes fancy it is you, that you reach
somehow across the space and time between us;
that you think of me, regretting your indifference.
But I should know better. Besides,
you know how to reach me. I’m in the book.