you. When I left the park I could see a dry procession necromancing from the swamp. I saw skeletons clothed in tattered football jerseys, dragging water-stained brass instruments like rusty coppered piping, they lifted these to their placid faces and wheezed yellow notes from their depths. Then I looked down at my hands and saw that I was a skeleton and I walked among them suppressing screams inside my ribcage and we marched. Still marching, I awoke early and approached a gate feeling it resonate with the hum of skeletons and the iron bars and the plopping raindrops fat like corn oil, there were translucent newts clinging to the bars, their little toes were polyped mushrooms. The rain was ubiquitous. The newts crawled hypnotically in circles, and there was wispyness in the trails of their tails. I felt happy the way a voodoo doll feels happy. I lived in a wooden room on a shelf where a woman kept me with her knick-knack fetishes. Sometimes she would lift me to her and I would feel her beating heart against my sweat and hair and bone. Her voice was ancient and brittle, and she whispered bestial magic mantras into my ear and I listened transfixed on the utterances of her polyrhythms. Once while she sang, she milked tears from my veins until I was dry and my body was skeleton. She placed the bones of my fingers in her soup, and her fingers locked into mine and my skull fell into