Postmodern Poetry - Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

You wake to nausea a negated sea and the clock starting over and over staring at you across much earlier than you’d like. Earlier your ears remembered the alarm going off and debt haunting like traces of semen pulled over your mouse pad like you moved there, but of necessity performative, neither from nor to but inhabiting. Well. The burned are already whispering to you those secrets that recoil while firing flames gnawing at the mid-range in her belly of sounds. But why does the first connection attempt fail? Because of sophistication testicular references enhance nascent craters arching busty like a parsed vellum a level of velor and unbridled candor or abandoned. On between as in and or among. Fucking time-based art you wake to, a nigger sea is me creased and siphoning left feelings eating others’ regard for me the wastes of some distance to love up on ivory stilts. And on her belly of sounds. You’re rigid at the gears that arch her back along an engineer’s ocean. Anyone can have a word-processing. Well, the burned are up and at it again their gain flailing knobs and flooding headphones while uploads whisper those secrets that recoil after pressing on with the business. Oh, there are many wonderful things to worry about! Like kind of partially incomplete. SARS. Upturned leaves today give the appearance of immaculate dogwood god-hungry jackal, slipping orbs almost Orphic but moodily ore your ears scream, screw your ears. Damage like this is a diamond to spell check. Almost anyone can have a habit of word-processing. This avian flu has come muddied with dust moaning yellow bathes in salt last month the whole belly of sounds bean tucked away in raining folds thickening rapidly. Damn! Tits are a lovely reminder of gravity! But it’s only a lake as of yet, here where glaciers must have you on the coffee-table. You’ll maybe spend a few hours on your ivory stilts maybe walking or lurching through cities the crust removed and so exposed soft bread fiber at fruit. Having a sudo bash.

Oh, she’s got this beautiful tapering down below! You wake to now slowly wooden swollen fists. Later on the alarm has rungs.

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