Postmodern Poetry - Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

Post-modern Poetry - Lewis LaCook

In a hot room at the end of december
the monsters have found us yet again

In a hot room that’s nothing but walls
my breath escapes me
and swirls around rusted bars in windows
hissing and whispering to me

The face of this warehouse rusts before your eyes
The face of this warehouse grins like noises
in the walls
The face of this warehouse soaks you with voices

and leaves you to stand gape-open
heavy
before it

I’ve always been curious about this spot
and stopped on my walk home to
gaze up bricks into black maw windows
open full of hidden screams onto the street

It’s so much taller
than you are
Somehow more awake

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