Contributor: David Hong

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I am gas (oxygen, helium,
Nitrogen) setting my invisible hands around
The fleshy throat of your room and knowing the vascularity
Of my right forearm as it corkscrews into the jugular
Until volume is just a postulate
since the lungs could explode or crumble before the
Spark,

After which I am
Everything like the son of Juno and Jupiter and
The applause of incinerated rubber, flesh,
Plastic, napalm
Ripping apart the terrain from Gaia,
Viscera from melancholy until only I
(And I myself) engorge this cavernous gape with
Ragdolls and the Doppler effect.
Since one dance of the diaphragm and
Your frosted breath,
I am gas ( ).


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David Hong is a second-year undergraduate student at the University of Pennsylvania. He lives in the heart of South Korea with his loyal dog, Maxwell.