In the Dark Tapestry of Lonely Hours

I was introduced to collage poetry by my friend, Frances Lucas. Rather than pulling material from famous poems, I decided to pull lines from my own work in an effort to relate what it feels like to have a brain dealing with the after effects of Covid.

In the dark tapestry
of the lonely hours
a solace is found
in the nearness of things;
my left foot,
my watch,
unseen eyes
staring down at me.

It could have been worse,
I suppose,
but there’s something terrible
behind this incessant drone
of motors in my head,
something torn and tattered
and worn to a nub.
I find myself lost
in an unending labyrinth
of time and space and
meaningless explanations.
Everything looks the same now.
Your head looks like all the others.
Even the clouds look suspicious.