Tuesday 6/23/2009 12:01:00 AM

Bare stockings on the shower rod. Dance against the shower's taunt. The lithe contrition flesh easily absolves. Remain. In the smell of her hair. And the halted press of her lips.

Noir cinemas spoil the dark. As the clowns collapse into that fallen tent. And all the lions give up their roars.

It's always a story. Beginning. Middle. End. Though we often skip ahead. To the rocking chair on the back porch. Rattling the door we always keep locked.

Knowledge enough I thought. As we hummed through the intersection. The ambulance's siren wailing just ahead. It's quarters in the vending machine. That sweet bit of candy not falling. Running. with dollar bills. To catch that genie. Grab on to that final wish.

It's chlorine in my eyes as I open them under the water. It's swimming. Pounding on the sand. Hoping someone is listening.

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