Tuesday 10/31/2006 10:23:00 PM

He was talking. Spewing jigsaw pieces. While I busied myself searching for the edges. I started at the buttons. The numbers that had seduced me into listening again. Just like pressing on a wound to try to stop the bleeding. I kept calling him.

Cataloguing his stories. Filling in the silhouette of his voice. One drunken story at a time. Nearly making him real.

The clock always stopped at 11:01.

When we'd brush away the moments that had dropped. Gather what silence was left. And say good night.

To each other.

So many times.

The acoustics of the flesh suddenly obvious.

In the trill of the dial tone.

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