Miscellaneous

Elderly Klamath woman photographed by Edward S. Curtis in 1924

i am only a widow
whose husband is still
alive
on a bed of gravel, i layed
jilted, dead, white widow
and my spouse is alive
still
and i become the ure of
Reliability theory
whole of me is motionless
but my tears
bitterly fed by your
Senescence
and each time my body
trembles of blackness
and nicotine
hoping to lose remembrance
i remember
that its a grace i was prevented
from
so i think of you
and the thought of you
makes me wet, the smell remains
relic in the locks of my hair
touching my mouth.. my lips.. my nose
half a human
fearless
careless
tempted by nothing, enjoying this nothingness
and that claustrophobia you enticed me to
whole of me
inside of me, inside of that little dark small red place
called heart
pumping stones not blood
and it hurt
the ring in my middle finger

old and yellow, ugly yellowness

and i sank , i sank i sank and you

watching me sinking and sinking

just watching

I wonder, where is your conscience

sleeping

then, i take a look only to find it

deep down in this ocean, next to me

laying scared, weak, quivering from cold.