Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

The reason isis singing come on in my kitchen fields after forestville dark painting rust corners with blue eyes in painless rooms

Is it even reasonable, this willow, dark and sensate amid dropped fields? My glasses are breaking your heart on sharp notes

As i reason with buzzed fields. The hammock by the willow. Feeling lifts, felt lillies vibe. A corner orifice lit with sine

The reason fields buckle under your feet is you fear barefoot rendezvous. Even afternoons our lawn buzzes contentedly, styling sky

A field of reason is a teething feast. It thaws the jawline, punctuating your voice with backspace scars. You shimmer and swallow

These reasonable fields, studded with grapes, enable blends of your voice, cupped like water in a desert, to season my thoughts

Forestville: swarm of blind trees, warmly breezing, as Lindsay sleeps on repeating, peeling out halo like a killing moon. I starve

I dream green ranches on repeat. Walk through the oldest trees. I sing my chances, leaning over lucid storms, on film and milky

As a green ranch yawns jowls under a wayward sun so too you wake before me trickling emails across some headache days

A green ranch isn’t saturated with sadness beads off the concave leaves trickling pearls down her legs for the sea at her feet