Skin a fish to find its inside skin.
My finger is a hook I use to find your name
inside me. Though names don’t live in bodies,
long-distance runners say no junk
miles & I like that you fuck
right. I’ve done it many times & I’ve heard those
beautiful sounds, the lights & sirens
& police say that’s what they’re made for.
Comrade to comrade, I’m on my way. Ok.
If there is no wolf, bite off the sound
inside you. If the law made you
a witness, remain a man.
There are no women of science
for Brouardel. You must instead bear
testimony to the inside siren.
Someday it will science itself.
Just try to catch your blood
with your hands. Put your cheek to the
shower floor & your hand on the drain.
There is no name within: all
miles are junk miles. Your blood
will leave you in the end. There is no such
thing as a vessel. If you’re even the net
you say you are, you’re a bad one.
Fish catch their own fish.
Your teeth were not careful. Your hand loved
my neck. Though I never said hurt me,
you knew how.

Emily Vizzo