angor animi
a nothing of darkness
from before we were born
we carry that flaw deep inside
to deposit in the vault of the grave’s eventuality
the un-access code to the deconsecration of self
the waterwheel turns
time’s river flows past our tenure
how many black oceans surround this little island we call life
even the love of the moon’s tenure is limited in the void of the virtual
can a poem deconstruct this perpetual destruction of self
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