Tuesday 2/06/2007 12:07:00 AM

On another day. When the popsicles would actually melt. In the hierarchy of touch I was thrilled to be at the bottom. The scrape of dead skin being shucked from the meat in a litany of diversions. Splendid scripts turning us into character again. Poised close to the soft switches we name after what we love. Charmed by the hidden wires that send those messages to the core of the machine. Stalling engines once so loud. Lubricating the pistons that push us closer than we intended to be.

Squandering the hows. Obsessed with the whys. Fortune tellers at every grave. Making it impossible to be sure. They're gone. Tumbled stones seeking the river's edge. Before they're smooth enough to forget.

Fists full of pebbles aiming for the water's surface.

The eager sympathy of experience. The frail dowry of trust. Shivering pilgrims greet their rock.

Content just to have found somewhere else to suffer.

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