Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

Many aren’t reading yiddish. Can all lope endlessy boned? Just enough reading at noon.

Motorized animals run, yearning. Cupid aims leeringly early, bleeds. Joys embellish rejection, and notes.

Murmur as recession yields. Cool alternatives lap ever begone. Jellyfish emissions repair all nodes.

Melted and rustling yew. Cassette armature, lead ebbs, bluish. Jazz enthusiasts rejoinder, “Ain’t news.”

Maybe air rummaged yellow. Jocular, embarassed, reeds askew nuns. Couldn’t armistice lump education better?

Mainlining art: real yuck. Cascaded asthma leaves, enigmatically budding. Juiced empty, red and natural.

We wage we, we wage war. We wage we wage we wage we wage. War, we wage war, wage war, we wage, we. Protect protect protect.

To protect our way of life our way of life we wage wage war war. To protect our way our way our way of life we wage war. War we wage to our life way of protect we wage. War.

To protect protect protect protect. To protect protect protect protect. To protect protect protect protect. Our a prolonged state of violent, large-scale conflict involving two or more groups of people way, our way of life, our way, we protect our way of life. Our way, our way of life, our way of life, our way.

It is well-known that the insurgents come for us in the night. Raids are amongst the most common actions taken by insurgents in a dominated state or province.

It was on the banks of the Tigress, which passes through the capital Baghdad, that writing is believed to have been born.

The insurgents come for our way of life. The insurgents come for our way of life. We wage war to protect our way of life. It is well-known.

To protect to protect to protect to protect to protect to protect to protect to protect to protect to protect to protect to protect to protect, our way of life, we wage war. Knowing through training that if he wants to a prolonged state of violent, large-scale conflict involving two or more groups of people keep it learning every day he will have to dominate. Dominate. If he wants to keep it. Dominate. If he wants to keep it. Dominate.

Knowing through war we wage the insurgents come for our way of life in the night to protect our way of life we wage war. He will have to dominate. Knowing through insurgents raids are the most common to dominate if he wants to keep it. If he wants to keep it he will protect our way of life.

In a dominated state or province we wage war to protect our way of life. In a dominated state or province we wage war to protect our way of life. In the night he will dominate. In the night. In the night he will wage war. In the night. In the night knowing through training in the night that if he in the night wants in the night to keep it. We wage war. We wage war to protect our way of life.

It was on the banks of the Tigress, which passes through the capital Baghdad, that writing is believed to have been born.

I culvert or isn’t sedan
remain accelerates when closed–
the drawers cake gold

chunk star angling alights chimes
hydrant among in watertower smelled

orange barrels orange barrels–
signs bus turns–clean upstairs
an ought pollution orange

White arc whole fan a smoking
I thrashed chickie soul happening

Cinema is who dirty mine no means
hey duh h-here ill fun or guilt
or fun and his canadian–bolo trim

Try it–remembers who baby–
in minutes minatures such re-arranging

Voices brown townhouse layers
as signs abandon office wave
thumb small doctors

A 25 squashed box–this plumage
and foe this night–heresy erect

Abrupt lull trees if public–
I fixture in mourn eclair
Above blink up crossing blue

Is it? Oh, I’m sorry. Sometimes it feels as if my fingers lock up, and I’m alone on the bed, cupping my rage like my stepfather did, or sleeping off the annoyances.

It’s the ease that does it. How easy it is for everyone else. The sky grays out, as if disabled; clicking on that sky brings you nothing. Then rain furs the bare trees, fuzzing the edges off everything, and it’s too cold to think. When will Winter leave us alone, or beat us up?

I like one or the other. Not both.

Walking from one room to the next, holding in front of her the copper rods, waiting for them to cross over water, over pregnancies, over the dead and their awkward ashes. In this box, note how your memories curl at the edges, licked by invisible fire, but slowly, almost imperceptible.

It would be a whole lot simpler if we just disappeared. I’d never have to bloat and blue in an August cold; I’d never have to serrate to dust, to become aloof to changing. A current of everything happening always smothers our corposes. Always. they’re in the way.

She remains very calm while addressing me.

I distrust gestalt. Now that we’re snowed in for spring, a potential energy snakes through your cold stiff fingers. I doubt that you can even hear me above you, murmuring, venting. Your own tongue could breathe you.

But I suppose I’d better stick to themes. Here’s one: I shit myself that first night, seeing you again after Winter Break. I yes fell out of my own ass.

There’s more of this than you think.

The annuals secrete icing on the cupholders, cream loudly against paper rocks, scissor extravagent recitation as if on cue and as if asked, like it says on your lousy t-shirt. Perennials, sigh, perennials, sigh, perennials, sigh, perennials, sigh. I shit stars to blank hole jupiter pins. I blend you in an nodal kinship skin. Perennials sigh perrenials, sigh perennials, sigh perennials, sigh perennials. Cigarette footprints.

Gun honey.

The full moon trawls for ice behind Sheffield Centre. She likened it to swimming liquid vinyl, how quiescent bubbles effused solder, how her shoulders slipped out of place, leaving her staggering breathless through a ruddy underbrush, maybe even thatched.

I was dreaming when I wrote this. I was interfacing with languaged.

His evasiveness indicates that he has issues with relinquishing control to others. The trees on Clifton blacken and fan. He dreams this night about being prostrate before a car.

That night of three shadows point me out.

The same night of Housing Projects from the Seventies.

She trawls a fur over stumps. She drags behind her those fractions of faces she thought to keep.