Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

for Mary

My woman is fractured and petall’d
like everyone needs new clothes
of beautiful pinwheel anonymity
I’m just trying to feel good

while her petals sift down the air
lazy like lawlessness
Her children sleep for days
with pinched faces and hot rooms

and the sound of mowed grass
crying beneath electric scythe
Why’s it up in my grill
like that

that she’s got wisdom in her flaws
that she’s got enlightenment in
her PMS
Her rage is right and spot-on

but I’m smoke a joint and LMFAO
LMFAO all over those big empty daubs
I don’t think she’s ever slept ever
except maybe like me through our own solemn birth

This blue thunder and its
agonizing tributaries forks
before me when i
smoke my way home
Predictably it rains nasal stitches
on mary’s red umbrella
until I walk into a sign that says
no outlet
I wonder where
the ends of lines go
I didn’t mean to hurt anybody
Laughing the other
side of my nose
to garbage piled behind some
houses i see and of sudden
torrents land slowly easy
pouring down

The sun’s slit throat foaming like liquor humor
I remember that Alabama, this one Ohio
as dead as the teats of them old
backbone parameters sniffling out sloughs
religious

Gentry swarmed Gettysburg that summer
I had gone chasing sparks at the welder’s house
I had gone chasing sand through her hips
I danced laps around the arc of running home

The sun’s smitten fill droning over and over
I remember that lava, this one Pittsburgh
minimizing flagrant willows until a low aroma
undefined for me what I mean to say
religious