Postmodern Poetry - Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

it has come to our attention that a world without impressions just got paid according to her cellphone alarm is not working properly rapport scanner flat lung clasp cannabis wisteria mysterious simulation not as alike as one would think slow burn patience paper tastes likes ass but below black christmas the carpet of winter desolation rolling into september belting out saws in the distance moaning raspy morning clutch coffee fungus clasp window’s reflected rolling off the screen

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