Remaining Silt

 

 

I hear the small clinks of the

revolver cartridge turn

the oiled smell and the cordite

can semi see myself in its reflective parts

wavering and wobbly.

 

You and I are

similarly added to this room its

mourning and attitude

me speaking to you

the furniture remembering where you were

 

the slants of sunlight

your books, your earrings, your make-up,

colors out of fashion now

the cars you remember are gone

having slipped past their usefulness.

 

There are some things

hard to speak of

sitting here and holding it all in

everything readying

to come pouring out.