Postmodern Poetry - Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

09/11/2007

Is it hard to love? The long road on which there shall be no parking at anytime also cannot define gravity albeit denser and more shallow and also spattered with lights. Even in Einstein sitting quietly is distance and sitting louder against the woods is some miles more. Filters can pill those bitter arid notes on a guitar. Though sometimes at night you come upon that curve behind thickening trees where broadway’s video pollution bends to your heels shuffling elyria ave pebbles ahead of you for breadcrumbs. Life’s most magnificent wonder is god’s mercy it says. Sure but i never want to be perfect. Leave me alone you’d say i’ll just die and everyone would be better off would go the outer shirt but where would i put my cigarettes i think i’m being crushed. Would it be hard to evolve? That night it dipped below 40. You saunter through the curl behind sheffield centre. Dips in the road studded with neon delicate and jutting fold your shadow into curbs to protect it from these cannibal streetlights in which your mother’s silences listen as you silk past the mill undetected but for this. The skunk pads swiftly across your path. That might be how neal cassady died. Just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in. Oh, the yellow placards denoting wet floor the soundtrack with the gain all the way down the islets of shadows trees make on the sidewalk after midnight after midnight the down the street the down on all four! It threatened rain both of those days but it never did and now it’s clear to everyone breathing the same old exhaust you look up from walking held to earth and some lawns unowned are allowed to grow wild. I’m just relieved to be able to crack my knuckles again. Two deer chasing safety under streetlights pothol’d with silk lisps and empty aftermidnight concrete through which these veins of stress and trembling run. One day our core will cool. Do you find it difficult to stripe across pavement that way? A woody smear of burn turns onto reid ave a wallowing in learnedness where birdhouses look like pallid floating faces in the dark. There you’re humming a monster love ballad for the universe. The highs wash over you swallow the walls and shit light back at the moon the lows traul o’neil blvd for wombs to angel and crave vertices to the pit of their mantles. You’ll fracture your hands pouncing and skimming through dense grasses trying to grasp what has always and ever been void. And on those nights clouds crazed the sky like a history of pressure pressed in rock? Then the headlights trouble you the newest churches calmly sleep as you pass by.

09/22/2007

It’s too goddamned quiet
now that the kids are in school
Somewhere outside my window
a calm voice explains calm things
while trying to impart
a sense
of urgency
I’m telling you how I feel about density
in my head and how I feel
about that too
Ashes seesaw down to my desk

and mention while I’m away
the link between code and cannabis
Andre Breton is cut in half beside
my window
Autumn forces herself on Summer
and Summer comes almost immediately

In almost we find amphetamines
and love
I remember rocking on her hips and crying
filling the slow basins with elemental dews
Do you think of it as escape? Will I feel swift
when the filters illuminate the mulberry’s rebuttal
or will I drown like everyone else here?

I want to be powerful
like love

09/02/2007

Username and password. Why do you call me sir sir? At the beginning of my day I make enough cigarettes. For. Not until the paperwork is finished. Your heartbeat serrated these prisms of aching leaves. Just look behind you. Stumbling on uneven concrete a spill of timber light whitening painful birds stripping tongues. There’s thick glass in through I call out to you I call and talk five minutes. Then the crickets switch keys go up a whole step and you can still hear the mill. The moon a wedge of anemic lemon grinning. I could even be watching TV through your window with you thickens near the atop loose shoes. Urban brands up to 70% off and shit. However many churches there have been in the world ahead of you someone walking hidden straining to plant those shanks of run light in you let him to air conditioned to continually eulogize seeking distinct units. The moon sucks at another empty parking lot up on the cracked concrete shimmering in the sweats of summer’s last sugar. There’s a used car lot at the corner of your bruised fruit. Broadway feed and pet supply paterson 1920 gyros & more closed for repairs charleston car washes inc. Could we interlace the sound of traffic with kissing? You do know it’s 90% humidity out where an abanoned shopping cart slits the sky burning away all the weather. Crickets pound a sleighbell beat on weight. The spiders are tethered to threads and gliding. I park where reflectors summon mailboxes out of the night’s bath. It’s busier on tuesdays. Cars nightriding leave a garland stink of honeysuckle behind. Renaming dislocates. Those deep purple clouds skimming above us have surely slipped out of their cuffs. Gills open in the road swimming anonymous cars red the corners to townhomes littered and lit-up but when no-one moves it gets darker. You’re broken somehow but fixing you breaks you even more. I distinguish horizon because its deep softness excommunicates me.

09/08/2007

Coughing in your sleep, no snow
loves the contiguity of these words
saying, “Linux struggles to accomodate
Gods hardcoded handcuff’d”
The prowler’s electric glistening

8/26/2007

Last exile posterized amongst door grain with the light of day switched on. Can I take a pee? Poe is a starving cat bounds to my lap, in which sick life is bondaged. Mary bound to her hotoil treatment whirrs in fullon sunshines of nascent afternoon. Snow-flecks land for months and weave into your skin. With a plastic bag of storebought wrapped around her hair! Because there are no empty rooms. Mom, are you going to check my chores? By way of one of the greatest greeks in history. I move closely through your symmetry. Don’t hold anything back. Or you’re not even sure there even is a right thing to do. Hisself-effacement skulks off to the woods by itself? Mistakes breed vermin. Polyphony blossoming thickly steaming chords as vicious as sustenence as vagrant as wakefulness. They don’t sit side-by-side. Returns to childhood via horror and science fiction. The common names we have for things have shifted. The beautiful strength of vulnerability. Big trucks brush by me walking on the shoulder with my backpack on. This is how I figure out what was meant by my days. Billboards glow among slowing branches. You won’t have to spoil it with questions. Another unbinding. Lucidly swallows. Don’t look where you don’t want to go.

09/01/2007