Dark Hours


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

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