Eve Rounds

4:30am haunting

people often describe the music that my sister and i create, as “haunting”. to me, this as a compliment. i love the idea of the other side. of things unseen.

i’m fascinated by what’s left behind. a deep chill.

but i only enjoy the story. fictional. a harmless ghost.


no sleep

echoes rotate me awake.

and there they sit

indian style

somewhere between

my indigo – i gulp

and my yellow – i quiver


not a

too much candy tummy ache

nor a

sinking dread sensation

a well

black and mute



hey remember when baby jessica was trapped in that well back in ’87?  and of course “radio bart”, one of my all time favorite simpsons episodes.



but ok but

write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing

a 5 7 5 for e

peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!


is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards