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Relapse

by Chris Sorrenti


Regret comes in clusters; Fear,
geometric form;
It has sides and curves,
obtuse angles
constructing
into
a rollercoaster.

Panic attacks arrive
by the millileter, and
you can run as far
as you want to,
but there's
no escaping
the toilet bowl
of error; every head comes with one,
but they don't all look the same.
The porcelain sitting crooked on the floor
is dazzle camouflage
planted
in a sea of turquoise.

And the clusters arrive and go;
ten foot thick
telephone poles
dancing
with your brain. Talk to someone,
about something, anything,
and the chain saw comes out,
its teeth hungrily
shattering the wood.
Out of each disintegration flies
fear's nemesis,
its wings never to know the word "geometry."

© 1991

940 reads as of June 2017

03/09/2005

Posted on 03/10/2005
Copyright © 2017 Chris Sorrenti

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 03/10/05 at 02:32 AM

A singular view of what must be a drug relapse! The mosaic of a brain gone haywire! Quite intriguing, a kind of insanity of language. Violent too!(at least mentally). :)

Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 03/10/05 at 05:53 PM

"no escaping the toilet bowl of error; every head comes with one, but they don't all look the same."... oh wow, chris... your visuals here send me back in time... yes, you write it so well... blessings...

Posted by Maureen Glaude on 03/10/05 at 10:27 PM

the sense of pending doom of the panic attack well depicted here. It can relate to many of us, in certain situations, like high escalators for me.

Posted by Mary Ellen Smith on 03/11/05 at 11:57 PM

Well I don't know about anyone else..but now I'm afraid! Vividly written!

Posted by Glenn Currier on 10/04/09 at 04:48 PM

Chris, thanks for this and the courage it took to write it. This is one of your more creative poems, born of angst and falling. I know the feelings of that chain saw and the title.

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