The Relapse

Tyler Cobb


Haunting the orange kitchen counter
While I'm stuck in another dark trip
And waiting for the business end of the floor
To cushion my face with laughing porcelain,
Decrypting the thrill of the TV's celluloid skin,
I connect the dots, a spectrum of cold angles,
Horizontal currents dodging the night,
Dreams drunkenly sway and are harvested
Like ingrown brain crops in uniform rows;
Answers are fascinating but always too late,
A million complaints still unanswered,
But one has to feel that this odyssey
Was just a rumor and nothing more.