what's this "poem" about?

From the void comes a cry,
not wild or a thing of nature
but muffled as the mangled soul, polluted.
Its distorted waves hit the pure and the serene, disturbing.
But in the sterile blankness
of the mind that has
itself rejected, as the coward it is, the harmony--
the nobility in man with plain clothes
or the untouched beauty outstanding in the blemished face.
In this what remains of the marvel--
the neurons and the dopamine and the need for a consort--
the cry from the void is hailed, unfathomed.