from Lizard Venus
My brother is spread across his sheets like a venereal question. I hum and kiss his eyelids. His wrists have caked all the way down to the mat- tress. Every part of him is hard. There is a trail of polluted river behind me because I took off my clothes and walked home wearing only the soaked jacket my killer threw. Everybody is dying in one frequency. It’s good, if I’m not excluded.
I squish next to him, fiddling the heavy wetness of my jacket over us, giving us a freezing canopy. I hold him until our bodies shake. I listen to his wounds. They glitter on my ear. They say: “Flintstone vitamin girl. I have given you a name because my sister also loved you.”
I rub the world dry. My stomach pokes up like a flexing muscle, quivering scientifically, atoms cuddle our bloat. My brother keeps slitting his wrists and I keep hammering my body until our shudder is the same.