Quantifying Tomorrows and Yesterdays

at 4:07 she ponders that
she can capture
neither stranger nor familiar,
neither body nor mind,
neither meaning nor aesthetic--

she, instead, is the conquered--

it is fatigue, it is anger, it is dolor,
it is atrophy to be;
but she is never too low
to crush hope altogether

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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