In Which Having a Brother With AS Can Be Ridiculous At Times.

"Your mom's made of pants,"
he sings,
repeatedly and
repeatedly and
he's never gonna stop, like
the momentum of his voice
is a juggernaut.
bitch.

In Which I'm Colouring My Hair, Again.

so much depends on
that red liquid-high
sliding into
droplets on your skin,
all the while
morphing who-you-are
into someone, maybe
new but
you hope it's old like jeans,
the kind you wear every day,
without washing,
and they fit like
they're part of you.