I was thinking about apparitions
not a ghost, so much as a face in the sand
or the side of a wall or in the clouds
maybe its not Christ
but Elvis or Abe lincoln
or even Giovani Ribisi.
I had written this great poem about Humphrey Bogart,
how his friends had called him Humpy
I had it all mapped out
it was a story about railings and guns
it was a poem about love
it was poem about misgivings.
I was watching Jack Benny,
I was reading a bad book,
I was writing on a piece of paper
which kept disappearing
which kept no record
maybe it was a treaty.
I’m out here in the dawn
under the awning
with a robe on
I was out in the lawn
raking leaves, watching tv
under the awning.
I was watching my neighbours
they were watching tv,
they were watching jack Benny
with their bathrobes on
with their slippers on
with their radio on.
It was 8am
it was 9 pm
it was 12 pm
it was 2 am
it was 4 am
I was under the awning
I was under the impression
with my robe on
with my legs dangling over the railing
under the awning
that I was on tv,
that I was Jack Benny.
I had leaves in my socks,
and I had written this all out before,
I had a piece of paper
with words disappearing
which kept no record
it was much better then, than it is now.
I had written this all out before,
it was a poem about Humphrey Bogart
it was long and elaborate
it had innuendo and romance
I can’t remember how it went,
but it was much better than this has turned out.