Absolute Anonymity

Your speech is only wind that slips beneath your stone-cut lips.
Your words, ever awaiting the sacrament of nullity,
are parted with the breeze and paused before the farthest gate:
The long-lapsed loop of voices comes lisping back
over disembodiments of empty air. There, dead futures
keep repeating. Between the space of several selves, nothing
reaches the mind’s horizon. Ponderous or imponderable,
each thought breaks off early, breached before the end.

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