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)
mindlovemisery 
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
Exactly X!