Sunday 6/17/2007 12:23:00 AM

There were phones to not answer. The coach of alcohol like some grave mentor. It knows proudly what she's only known in shame. In darkness usually reserved for the dead. Sounds she could sparsely recall. Crawling through the womb in weighted gloves. There were so many people to ignore. It was hard deciding which nothing to choose. It was a strange euphoria arriving at last at that grave.

There were people to forget. Conversations to remember. A ballet of crippled demons. Fires to set. Plastic eyes to open. Years to tinker with. A cirucs of gears. Like clown faces drawn in ink on every blank page. Just to prove we can't erase.

There were phones to not answer. Calm pirates of the heart. Burying their treasures. Drawing maps. To places that can't be forgotten.

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