Postmodern Poetry - Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

The candy sat in the rain
Mary waking sweetly on me
Her sex is narcotic and spiritual
The moon lures me along dark woods

Color bites the hand that feeds it
Through the pores
Mary distills crystal dawns to a hierarchy tree
This line is for Ted Warnell

I try to light the wrong end of my cigarette again
That’s why I never accept love
This room holds heat
Yes, all the stores are closed on Broadway

Rob Myers
Coming and going

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