1

Three vultures pick apart a human corpse. Its entrails leave a sickly black pool around it, trailing into a thick, clumpy rope ending a few feet away. The vultures laugh and chat as they consume. They are old friends, having chosen one another long ago. They exude love. They drip guts.
The corpse lacks a lower half, ribs protruding from its newly formed bottom. A goner.
It abruptly and loudly inhales.

“What in hell do you all think you are doing?!”
It attempts to yell, but with punctured lungs, only manages to wheeze. It weakly swats at the birds with emaciated arms.

“Havin’ a little snack, right lads?” One vulture replies, as the others chortle in amusement. They continue to slurp gore into their ready gullets, nourishing their bodies and souls over a shared meal. It is delightful.

“Well can you take a goddamn break? Clearly I’m not at my end and y'all have taken some bits I was not yet ready to part with!”

The vultures consider this. It is not often that their meals interrupt them. They are sated by this point, the most nutritious organs already deep in their digestive tracts. Each vulture glows with companionship and sustenance. Usually they eat the rest purely to avoid waste, but seeing as this one is still apparently clinging to life, nothing would be wasted in stopping. One by one, they pause their butchery.

The four sit in silence for a moment, the corpse surprised by such an easy win.

“Thank you. Now, did y'all eat my legs? I'm not gonna have an easy time getting around now.”

“We found you legless. We always begin in the middle, where the most delicious parts are concealed.” replied a vulture.

“Damn. Wonder where they went. Don't even really remember how I got here. Was I a desert walker? Now that I think of it, I don't even remember my own name. Do y'all think names are stored in the legs?”

“We could name you. Perhaps if your legs are restored your true name will return.”

“I feel like I'm missing a lot more than legs. Do y'all know what exactly y'all ate?”

“Lung, stomach, liver, intestines, entrails, gore, sinew, bone, and the most delicious and prized jorgan. This time Fairview won the jorgan. We take turns each meal by cracking bones, the biggest piece wins the jorgan.”

“Some of those words I recognize but I guess the definition of jorgan was also in my legs”

“The most delicious and nutritious jorgan. The joy organ. The piece in which joy is stored.”

“I like the sound of that. I could really use some joy. Why don't y'all call me Jorgan for now”

“Thus it dubs itself after our most prized piece, and accordingly becomes prized in itself.
We come across many corpses in our line of work, and will likely come across many further jorgans. Perhaps if you were to win the bone game we could cede one to you.”

“So what, I'll crawl my way to your next meal and you'll save me some nasty bits to add to myself? And if we come across a jorgan we'll bone duel for it?”

“Indeed. We are Eaton, Metro, and Fairview, the last stages of the desert. Welcome to the coven.”

2

Sand crept its way into every remaining shred of Jorgan’s ruined body as he painstakingly dragged himself across the desert. The three vultures had caught the scent of another meal, and eagerly took off to locate it, chittering about burning some calories and the potential for another delicious jorgan. Jorgan could see their silhouettes ducking and diving in the distance, wavering from the heat rising off the orange horizon.

He felt himself weighed down by sand, his laboured strokes becoming slower and slower. “I’ve been given another chance, I won’t squander it”, he whispered to himself repeatedly. A mantra. The words lost meaning almost immediately. The temptation to let the Last Stages or some other gang of scavengers finish him off grew greater. He could almost feel a figment of his missing jorgan pounding. Is that how jorgans work? Do they pound? Can you feel the pounding of something long eaten? The sand stretched out before him, endless. The vultures disappeared into the distance. He kept pulling himself forward.

He felt like a newborn bird, eggshell and viscous liquid clinging to his wings. Apprehensive to see the sky. He knew following the Last Gang was his only chance at achieving his goal, but still he felt filled with anxiety, each grain of sand vibrating with the fear of what may come. He craved a comforting touch but only felt the burns of the desert, the scraping of his skin into tattered fragments. He doubted the sanity of continuing, but did so anyway. Stopping was just as terrifying.

An eternity passed until he faintly heard their chatter in the distance. Thank goodness he had pulled himself the right direction. They were screaming with joy, howling like wolves. Dancing around their prize. How pure! How simple to find such love in just a meal! Jorgan envied them. He tried to convert his envy into something else, gratitude, excitement, but failed. He felt as if he had drunk poison, his missing jorgan rendering him totally ill equipped for any form of positivity.

Eventually, he was upon them again, the sounds of gore slurping into their three gullets combining into a chorus, almost rhythmic in its intensity.

“There is no jorgan within this one.” said Eaton between bites. “But it has legs, which you may claim.”

3

Jorgan felt both guilty and queasy about attaching someone else’s legs to his body, but, having apparently committed himself to survival and rebirth, did so anyway. They felt extremely foreign, perhaps the wrong length or muscle structure for the rest of his body. With great difficulty, he pushed down his unease and set about relearning to walk.

Each step was laboured and unbalanced. He felt insecurely far from the ground. He felt his mangled guts drip beneath him. Was this effort worthwhile?

In some ways he missed crawling. It was easy to imagine his body filling with so much sand he would have to stop moving, stop pushing. The progress of becoming bipedal had an almost sour taste knowing it was harder to turn back now. He found himself resentful of the legs, of the vultures, of the desert, of himself. Why did he have such a bafflingly strong will to live? Why couldn't he have just stayed dead at the start? Why was he here now, thinking these thoughts?

It was in this surly mood that he finally came across the Last Gang again. He found them much easier to track now that he was higher up from the ground and had a better view of the desert. They were, as was often the case, feasting.

He fell before them, unfamiliar legs exhausted, agonizing where they connected to the stumps of his old body. As he lay, he wondered about the whereabouts of his soul, his self. Did it matter who he was before Jorgan? Was it fine that Jorgan was an amalgamation of pieces? Had the Last Gang taken anything important of him? Were any of these questions pertinent to his experience, or his quest?

The gnashing of beaks, gagging on bones being swallowed whole, and bursting of wet parts gently shook Jorgan from his brief reverie.
“Jorgan…?” he croaked from where he lay on the sand. A flash of a world of joyful but subjugated monsters came to mind, fading as quickly as it arose.

“You must come upon us more swiftly, pet.” responded a vulture. “While we promised you an entry in the bone game, we did not promise we would wait all afternoon while you drag your sorry body across the desert.” The trio erupted in laughter. Fairview took the opportunity to deftly toss a bone high in the air and catch it in her still-giggling gullet, each breath of joy pushing the bone deeper into her depths.

Miserably, Jorgan allowed exhaustion and heat to sap his consciousness, slurping and cracking forming a macabre lullaby.

4

He dreamt of sitting on the edge of a cliff, cool wind whipping in his hair. He placed a hand on his chest and felt his own warmth. He felt the rubble crumbling under his fingers as he crushed the cliff’s edge. The sun gradually rose in the distance, illuminating the valley in gold, blinding him. The wind rushed in his ears. He was beginning to freeze under its power. He shivered. He kept shivering. His teeth rattled. The valley glowed like ice. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was horizontal, facing the sky. Clouds whipped past eerily quickly, disappearing towards his new feet. The wind rushed against the top of his head and dispersed around the rest of his body. He shivered.

He realized he hadn't been cold at all during his adventure thus far. Confused, he looked around him. Instead of sand, he was surrounded by a blue grey expanse, slightly lumpy but relatively smooth. He looked towards his feet and caught the shape of a massive whale’s tail rising into the sun.

drink this
you must
participate or youll be
no fun, no one
likes how youre standing straight
we got wine
4 cups is whats required tonight
its culture
so drink up

im not an addict like im not autistic
im not a victim i resist
i dont get twisted
i dont participate in getting faded i dissociate at will, dont need to pay for
crystals liquids plants and papers

im not elitist, I've just been healing
i didnt know that it was legal
to feel your feelings
my mama leads us every evening
slurring her speech doesnt remember
anything we speak of
im not unique though

in anguish
drink flask
i dont do that
i hold fast
go passive
when i cool off
i tank shit
takes strength
i know im worth the effort
learn this to learn this

an easy answer got a prescription
im always anxious why not fix it why not dismiss it
forget the day i dont give a shit
I offer nothing i crave the numbing
dimness
dullness
no lustre

im on vacation its recreation not regulation
heart can take it, a combination of every thing
i get my hands on,
she says my face looks, depressed as fuck i must be clenching my jaw
cause this is all good

all good
im fine
i dont feel anything
i spend all
my time
consuming and not thinking
bout my good life
good job and good wife
they all want what you got
so stay in line

im at our old apartment, a malt liquor in my hand
i tried so hard but, i slipped again i do not understand
i see her and the effort i invest didnt commit i cant
remember what im working for i cant remember who i am

relapse
need help
how do i hold the burden
all by myself
the pressure burstin
and im gone
and i melt
theres nothing left of me
ill sleep where i fell

im not an addict like im not a victim
beloved girl was not neglected, was not belittled
i should be perfect should be simple
im far too privileged to be disabled

perfect
able
fix it
faithful

sober ish but
i think about the tablets constant
break them in half and smoke a spliff
the other half comes
if i dont feel fixed
and if youre suffering
just drink

put my tongue in your vice grip a tight click
i wither and shrivel a slug on your salt lick
take my bones and bury them in your soft earth
deep rain mud get baptized and washed girl

teeth sink in, but im clay and i wont say when
i can change shape and texture ill chameleon
losing me somewhere so deep within your white sheets
i can see god on the other side cheering me on

cus im an animal and having you is part of my trajectory
we were made to be connected it was fated see
and i don't sweat it if our orbit intersects for just a moment
or if you had other motives fuck it ill explore em

hesitant
not good at staying friends
they tell me its an obligation to keep fucking them
but shes coming at me like the ocean and im sinking in
tell the creatures in your coral reef hi when im snorkeling

your blood dissipates calling me like an AOE
its like i got a sonar for freaks and they keep finding me
got a target on your neck for all 3 rows of my teeth
got you sticking to my fingers ill be your anenome

we're prolly making enemies, these fishes want to be percieved as individuals
but youre just a school to me, cause ive been studying
and usually what they say is not what they mean
statistically shes probably just another fish to me

but a creature gotta eat

rodent teeth in plastic lid
palatable for common consumption
my shine escapes the tightest screw
my voice pounds through zero senses

in dark and dim
in quiet insanity
i sing
higher and lower than most

primate teeth in private flesh
they marvel at my art
documenting bruises
and impacts i left

you, i can tear
tassels tied in knots
i morph
i am strong in monstrosity
i am expansive and uncontained

they can see i am something else
you too, are beyond norms
i will take the shapes you love
but remain the same material

a three foot tall ceramic emperor penguin stands proudly on grey carpet stained with various low quality art supplies.

upon each toenail sits an abandoned piece of currency -- left by an adult who found the discs borderline useless, to be collected by a child who will also have minimal use for them. a treasure virtually only in surprise.

i will give you one coin if you memorize which combination would yield a mediocre bagel at the diner in the strip mall next to our local grocery store.
$2.25.
deciduous, coniferous, cumulo nimbus.

not unlike the behaviour of a squirrel or crow, a collection of trinkets forms beneath a place of rest. a sugar cube, a vitamin C, an oreo cookie, a greening penny

two toned coins accumulate value, somewhat. a small handful chime together in the front pocket of an unstylish backpack. a new friend/plug begrudgingly accepts them.

gravity flips
plant shrapnel and crumpled reciepts float pleasingly. various coins thump to the surface. i lament my perpetual hurry knowing certainly someone has asked for these at a time they felt inaccessible. i recognise their borderline uselessness.

unceremoniously exiting the bar prior to any swordfight occuring, i walk 5 metros away. i enter a chain depanneur so as to purchase
two unfamiliar malt beverages, with which to break 6 months of relative sobriety, and
a cigarette brand I suppose is mine because it is the most familiar title on my lips, as opposed to an actual preference beyond "not macdonald"

i presumably enter an undefined metro station at some point only to be asked from the other platform for fire with which to light a crack pipe. the individual owning said item appears to have a superhuman ability to manifest whatever he desires from random people in his path, which at the moment includes me. we share a surrendered cheesy bread.

i say "enchante" without remotely catching his name. he asks me if i am a boy or a girl and clearly does not comprehend the answer. i mostly do not comprehend him at all. he puts his arm around me.

on top of a grate perpetually blowing stale air, i decide not to worry about the contents of my bag being forever lost down its depths while half-watching for activity in and around the parked pickup trucks and pale yellow light emenating from the office building above.

my friends pointedly do not ask for details when i mention ive decided to follow an unnamed crackhead around for a while.

i am awarded scholarship money for being the most pathetic victim in my support group. i skipped last week thinking swords would be more regulating than middle aged women discussing legal battles. i was possibly the most incorrect ive ever been in my entire life.

in broad daylight, i sink my hands into the dirt of a beautifully landscaped public garden in a wealthy area. i fill my satchel with thyme and rich compost, initiating this particular bags second necessary wash within a month. i absolutely do not consider the two dozen witnesses nearby or my imminent criminal record check. i plant the thyme next to my other two stolen herbs. the rosemary is mostly brown now.

moon high and air thick with recently dissipated downpour, i comb through what are either errant donations or objects to be disposed outside my local thrift. i collect a sopping polyester fur coat and later determine it is exactly my size. i also claim a plastic cow and pig. a forgotten version of myself would have thought about my future child with the toy animals. the current version instead imagines them with an inebriated friend at a house party.

the cat i did not really agree to but have loved for 8 years sleeps at my feet. she prefers when i sleep alone. so do i, honestly. i try to disregard the wagon and my status on or off it. a pretty girl offers to bite me, etc. i sleep minimally.

i am regular. i am probably not certifiably insane. i am learning. i have done many stupid things and will do more, and then write about them. i am definitely not chill. i am often violently ill with love. i am probably still alive. so thats probably good.

empathized ghostliness
confessed transgressions
hypnotic addictions
women, another thing

its socialization
its love and temptation
its trying to save things
its having no options

pull down a chair
they start before im there
its outrage its anger
its loss its despair

and its over

collect my plastic wrappers, my cup and my passions
my narrative packaged, my notes in my bag
keep it closed so they dont see
my paddle and strap, hes got a full night planned

underpass crossing paths w a friend
vigilant for my ex
at an event shed attend
now im holdin space again
were basically strangers but
im so good at listening
so tell me your baggage king

cross street
big screen
ive met those
girls fuckin

its early
theres no one
talkin bout the world
it wants
hard dom
thats not
what i am
but ive done

i dont know bout this one
im not a dyke i just fuck them
tell me whats the convention and should i do the approaching
i havent eaten im open but
lacking energy so if im
beating, biting i could be
better equipped so lets go

for a moment
hot air like breath
and im floating
i havent seen him in multiple years, cross legged stance on a pier
ships give astigmatism passin at lethal distance

leopard print
cheetah print
hes equipped
for the meetup
but takes a minute to feel out if hes committed i feel that
i ask him how hes bein doin he says fucked up i say me too
the futures slower and broader than i thought i knew

its nice to see you
im in that signal group
lets make some art soon
dark again
loud moaning
i dont watch this kinda porn
prolly time for a smoke
maybe last one fore i go
i hit her candy coated vape
she says my friends are this way
i kiss em 1 2 3
i wont tap but am i screamin
the speakers distant but i dont feel like im making a scene
she sinks her
brand new fangs
into my shoulder goddamn
i cant forget to get your number i think we should be friends
she puts my name as jamie bites good now that is a flex

lights up
gotta roll
come with us
ok lets go
2 by 2 we
talk about pastries
and gay chaos
what else?

theres a lot going on down this street
but barely anything sinks
orange lit people get drinks
shes tellin me how she thinks
i sing the song stuck in my head
we dance
all 3 are drop dead
i cant tell where we are goin
well ish, i guess

water break
making out on a laundry machine
i cant tell who of these are dating
she panics cus her blood vessels are breaking
in the darkness we trade art

our bodies galleries
pieces of our exes

hey we got an artist in common
i used to live with him
stickers and pink and plants and safe base
she says she's ready to sleep
youll have to peel yourself off of me

women, another thing
all in one bed
sleep in short shifts
sunlight
cat on the far side

collect the pastries we spoke of
kiss each of them and head off

back again
to the gym
to the plastic chair
to the women
among them
im another thing