by: Evan Morgan

All mannerisms drift up to the Himalayas
Look! there goes solitude hand in hand with
fickle, vanity on her back suckling one
disembodied erect nipple: brown sun-bleached contrasts warm.
Ego pulls a cart of indulgence,
whipped for his efforts,
scars stripe the backs of his knees, or is it hers?
under its skirt I find only promises.

I am drawn to the rapid cavity in my chest
soft black glowing shards of glass cut my hands
but I plunge deeper, blood hardens full of taste
I am up to the elbow. .past
Next comes the torso slipping easily
without lubrication,
I pull my legs through and my hips, lastly
folding it all shut, tying a bow,
A gift for me
An unbeing
Disrobed at last I am free.

Directions for a wholesome nonexistence:

1. burrow under the mtn

2. accumulate nothingness

3. dissipate