Eve Rounds

i feel like writing

and so i shall. with no intent to intend.

sometimes there is relief in feeling overwhelmed by daily life. the bills and social interactions and putting the dishes away.

sometimes there is relief in feeling overwhilemed by ms. it gives me a real reason to feel overwhelmed by daily life.

sometimes just sometimes maybe here and there i manage to feel solid in my jester-like skills. instead overwhelmed by my own capacity to do.

today and lately i’ve been quite meh. and while i once craved a sort of equilibrium, i’m discovering that too much balance can be oh so boring…but really

certain elements must  remain steady so that everchanging variables don’t completely tip the internal see-saw…but really

i need passion. my only perpetual requirement.


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