Eve Rounds

the mourning always comes

miss you
every day
but less ish.
don’t go
don’t leave.
even my nightmares.
you’re too tall
wearing a jacket you’d never
oblivious to being a ghost.
but only in my dreams.
haunt me
scare me
you could never
but.
i want to love you
in the present
forever.

this unkind world

how is your head young lady the moon is on your side tonight i have known you for thousands of years traced your form in

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2 years

time will never heal this wound ravine, canyon the springfield gorge. the clock tends like a nurse caretaker, curator groundskeeper willy. missing him always. wishing

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you’re not invited

woke to the sound of my mom’s voicemail…then her broken voice and…nothing. in. between…then my feet on broken glass glossy white paint flawless save the

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the families

where the angle of the trunk allows humans to be silly and reckless stretching out over low levels of occasional rapids high levels of constant

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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

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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

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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!

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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

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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

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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

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love

what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you

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noise

sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

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the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we

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Twins

It isn’t easy being a twin.   Others considered us as one two-part person,  while our parents saw,  in our conspiring, four or more.  

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should.

dark morning darkness woke up crying i now embrace the word should. it’s a simple truth. my dad should be with me on my   

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27 days ago

i lost you so suddenly too suddenly your blue eyes in a constant state of near tear because you loved life giving us so much

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.no . title .. here …

your ……. face against the bruised air between my quiet mind and the raging storm …. panic .. desire …….. pain and wishful logic slowly …

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haikus, 2 of them

my wake centered on my back crippled by unconsciousness he places a kiss my run breath rising with the sun footsteps in opposition to the

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invitation lost

existing in halves one foot in the sand one boot in the snow full and void rarely a windless day and so the sky celebrates

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michelle

it was our privilege to watch la bamba in the master bedroom our preteen bellies full of linguine with canned clam sauce prone posed and

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my mind mine

i am in every room eclectic functions grounded purpose my vulnerable brain unruly mind neglecting to preheat the oven succumbing to the chorus that’s been

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decisions decisions

a somber run but a fine speed off to the side lost in my breath’s greed at quite some distance many paces behind ding ding

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the white in the white

heading south i see her approaching by borrowed bicycle white earbuds white capri pants white breezy bob pedaling to the rhythm section of her chin

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we three

they rest on the surface of me granting my entry into the most sacred of places a surprising density with neither mass nor saturation i

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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

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suchthing

there’s no such thing as a perfectplace. no hardwood floor without that one exposed nail head no bookshelf full of novels that evoke only layered

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no title

silence but for my poppa’s clock now set to spring climbing up climbing out of myself burrowing into an unidentifiable comfort present most times of

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you open the door

existence becomes a soft lens a distant campfire a weak cup of tea no less real when we are chest to spine always simple always

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.07 imagining

your grip about my rib cage guiding lifting propelling in forward motion the grace of pas de deux the ferocity of a mosh pit we

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this is

the kind of day my jaw bone gnashes on an invisible feast craving to create craving to feast on the creation but with instrument missing

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search and ..

she had forgotten why she’d even driven west this morning so she turned herself about and headed east she had forgotten why she parked the

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dad, know

my memories of you echo with the scents of mulch and bamboo of breyers seasonal blackberry ice cream the streams of car wash suds down

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from the douchebag bar

his bare grip strong encompasses my gloved fingers his own recent history the constellations of our midnight promenade sleet storms although tepid freeze my toes

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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

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my bed

your discontent began before your consciousness allowed yourself to fear it. having special requirements for your horizontal state i yanked the sheets out from my

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battle of the bands

he didn’t expect anyone to listen his brass notes swallowing up the water in unison with the mist gulping down the rest of us he

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obvious title

i walk for a long while i’ve been a runner hiker biker now a special occasion stroll a brisk paced too many beers too many

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on my walk to target

owning in a transitional neighborhood is like being part of an evolutionary experiment. where i was once afraid to walk eight years ago, i now

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water sports

i prefer the deep end depth is my comfort of somersaults and penny fetching cheering high dives into the solitude of aqua night my dreams

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the landing

i want to land on you i want to feel a violently warm wind strike my face i want to lean into it unabashedly and

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