magazine raze i flip through the cover story in reverse. last page to first. there are four or five grainy pictures of you. no colour, save for some subtle flesh tones. you stand on sand and stones smoothed by sediment. my name is buried in the body text. not the name i was born with. the one i gave myself when i washed up here. i'm half-asleep and fully clothed when you show up at the foot of my bed in a pea coat. my eyes scan the tv screen for some bewildered beast that looks like me. there's nothing here i want to see. you make my foot a fulcrum and lift it to wake me into a deeper dream. sleep slips away, and with it whatever words we might have shared. 240718 what's it to you? who go blather from