evening: spent | Kay Are

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.

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