Postmodern Poetry - Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

I’m going to wear my hair down today
even if it is 82 degrees
At an angle in heaven my father
watches me smoke this blueberry joint
and these awful fucking cigarettes
and frowns
It’s true Every man fathers
monsters
and is perpetually blind to the ensuing grace

I’ll eat what I have left inside
I’ll walk away from it today like
coughing through a thick wind
shedding velvet lenses
emptied from ear to ear
So much depends on red control

and lotus prints of pure sweat

Sometimes I’m high bathed
in cricketglow ringing out
into lorain night walking home

And then sometimes I’m mighty
This is elyria ave tighter
than most nights the cops
Someone was shot up there
just last month they were arguing
There’s no safer place in the city
chained to myself

But then also sometimes I complete
a circuit

But then the trees saturate trails then
Sometimes lit by something
cancelling thieves
the strays limp bristled against
august heat their eyes
complete those engorged
moons i dream to drench you

And then i have to walk backwards
all the way home