these, now, are the dark hours
not before dawn
dozing on soft pillows
a surfeit of time
insufficient space
stunted visibility
love giving way
rancid frustration
spread thinly
tastes in brains
of clotted anger
lumpy sighs and stresses
welling like a flash flood
it cascades over banks
musty in the air
ingress under isolation’s doors
rising in living rooms
saturating comfort zones
floppy desires
ductile dysfunctions
fearfully impotent
the irreducible pétillance
pinpricking flesh
in tattoos of trepidation
and we lie in wait
for a silent rumbling
in our dark hours
Al Barz 