Eve Rounds

7 miles fueled by fantasy

to be
sifted sorted shattered

on my run
i fell on my face
winning a staring contest against the sun
i’m still pretty

ode to arbita
sexual slang
caricature of me

alternate lyrics to entire version
it SURE IS easier without you
if you reappeared on friday

poached eggs on
sante fe patties
if q doesn’t disappear again
*update q disappeared again
**update q reappeared.

i’m hungry.
**i’m stuffed.

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