Eve Rounds

the fortune teller

a welcome humidity breaks through the seal of my skin
seeps into my soul
an onoff drizzle revives the resilience of my muscles
releases their restlessness

and off i go into the gray of focused conscious meditation

allowing dark ones to escape without a fight
the light arrives in torrents
the mirrors reflect an expansion of bright saturation
a self manifested destiny

aware only of my favorites
i can see now the words in poignant conversations of the distant future
i can hear now the thoughts of us as we grow older in wiser in happier
i am my own fortune teller
and fortunate
will be
and fortunate

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