The night repairs my longing

Restoring tears and keys

Driven from orbit

In the becomings of day.

My thoughts stumble

Through mesh and chiffon

A single no could shred

The nerves conducting my efforts.

If only I could think myself beyond

These sloppy, insidious walls

Beyond the slate of machined ideals

And personal inoculations

Beyond time and caricature.


The whole family is at home together sick (the poem has nothing to do with this comment)


2 thoughts on “Wordle #118

  1. we can very easily become a pale caricature of ourselves when lost to modernity s brand of life or when we succumb to our own inoculation. ..we can only numb for so long before losi ng all feeling

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