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.

good morning untitled

what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as

snip snip

the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to

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