So-and-so with your arms at your side - tiny bits of mercury in your mouth. true crime is never as

disturbing as the podcast claims. so, someone doesn't get out alive; big deal. I have an app on my

iPhone that alerts me when there's gunfire – West 4th and whatever - my stomach is empty so tell

me more stories – I’ll catch you in lies like a flying fish who calls it quits halfway across the bay.

You say you paced the George Washington Bridge contemplating suicide - oh bother – & a roll

of the eyes - I wanted to read the obituaries and finally say I know that guy! - but you claim the

cops stopped you. When I hit the water men circled me, my body became heavy, my body

became weak - I held my breath and kicked my way to the shore - ran towards my towel where

sunbathing women took drags off Parliaments and blew out the word whore - it held heavy in the

air like a bloated nimbus cloud.  Groups of girls gathered in the locker room and set sanitary

napkins on fire – playing light as a feather, stiff as a board - knees against chests, stretching out

oversized t-shirts – three girls on either side - two fingers beneath the body, two fingers falter to

lift what is dead.