Postmodern Poetry - Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

She hangs a heron shower
curtain while I organize
web marketing (below certain
thresholds the kids erupt

through the door from school like
schizoid noise blooms) into campaigns

I’ve grown accustomed to this
detachable head. The company
advances across burning, bringing
(i don’t care what the syllable

counters say, i just work the irritants
out) quicklime wires hold me

warm

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