Remembering How To Fly| Sandy Hiss Regret clings to you like day old lint. You walk around in polyester alibis, picking off lies one by one. Don't bother. You've run out of brushes and double-sided tape. The grocery marts close at midnight. And as you walk by the newspaper stands, the headlines rustle like restless leaves, call you "Loser" and for the hundredth time they mean it. But you don't get it and the rumbling sky wonders if you ever will. The past sticks to the soles of your sneakers while the future dangles its breasts in your face. It's always this give and take. And you can't take it anymore. So you give yourself away. Pull off the old leather skin, watch as it sinks into the murky depths of a haunted river where you lost some of your dreams. A pocketful of stars hang on for the ride as you follow the comet soaring from your awakened eyes