sorry we are
cash only at the guggenheim
uninterested in the
guggenheim nothing lies there
only circles circling
the years lie
in the air ahead and you
catch them, writes my academic
crush from downtown
in a text I can’t read without a US sim card
she’s listing
with a cello
the words birds say gloss glyph
gank galah how her
body opens
and closes as she plays
hair tumbling
late heat into loose
glass, park blossoms
disinterested
as bluebottles
over the steps
Kay Are writes poetry and prose, draws, sometimes translates, bakes in isolation, walks with her six year old. Born in the Blue Mountains, resident in Naarm Melbourne.