Eve Rounds

ruth less

she is
trapped
an arid word she’d never thought to use herself
on behalf of herself
not in this timeline
a word she’d used often
in the pasts of passing

how is she
captured
again
she wonders
how has she deemed herself the hunter
while assuming a position of prey
well she must have feltbeenseen
both
she decides

a radical breeder of choice
her surroundings provide few outs and far ins between
each crippling to a savage end

has she killed herself on repeat
she ponders

the spear has dulled
yet it pierces nonetheless
while she bleeds muchthemore

a hickory syrup of muted acceptance

lessons unlearned until
no escape
no endurance
she traces the sap
in search of injuries
to find
none

elbows traverse the chest
an embrace of
compression
compassion
she shovels the fever of her pulse
knuckle fist knuckle nail

breathing her own breath
in
out
she counts
in
out
she counts
in
out
controlled
in
out

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!

incircles

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