Don't forget about me High Desert Song

Hello from the marshes of four am.  Slushy dry throated open eyed sky silent of birds.  Healers have Indian names, and mounds of shells and bones make up hills.  I am pretty sure there are dead bodies inside the Domino Sugar factory, abandoned, on the water in Williamsburg.  The smell is musty and mildewy for sure, but when it's hot there's an extra added animal tension in the stench.  Too tempting a dumping ground.  Can't decide whether the AM Metro will say nothing one day or say one blurb about it.  I am thinking about a dozen bodies. 

I thought I would let just this jagged slur out.  I know it doesn't make sense.  It just had to be said.