—Steve Carey
Wake up without a dictionary. It’s raining
birds down your walls, tails up, beaks down.
Outside it’s lush, you get up shortly after
four in the morning and let the cold rain
spit onto your scalp, the rest of you is
buried in warmth. The pool is dark
but there’s a couple of blue lights
overhead. Who am I trying to
portray that I am?
There were no rehearsals and he was
definitely bored. Until the video loop
of him dancing when he was a kid
with his sister, naked but for a
pink scarf.
You and your blackberry trim. Ready
for the exhalation of surf. The pitter-
patter of rain. Driving down the
Pacific Coast Highway in your
pink Toyota (that you call ‘dusty rose’).
