Postmodern Poetry - Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

I was baptized in ashes
as a way to learn emptiness firsthand
They say neutrinos pass through us all the time

Read the frigid dips at semicolons
A copula locking cool mists to your thighs
What methods comprise your interface

You can’t store energy
Stared ever-so dump stars or rips
You eye yet plenty

Piled cold drifting against ankles
Sunshine smug with hegemony and lace
The white town grappling with sky

Joey on 28th Street

found video clips, recombined

Joey, or DJ Joey, as he is affectionately called, is a young man in Lorain, Ohio, who spends most of his day dancing on the corner of 28th Street and Elyria Avenue to his boombox, waving and smiling at passing traffic.

This video was constructed of footage found on YouTube, all dealing with Lorain, Ohio. This is the first video I’ve composed using the Open Source DV editor Kino on Linux.

Blue plains over blue lakes
At least no cars crack sacrificial fictions
I go inside and find a dead one

Almost all my favorite cats
are buried in the back yard–I smoke a joint
in the infinity after midnight

The smell of baby formula is the same
in all languages–Beaming prayer like a pinwheel
flower in all directions–Spinning

My speech slurs all chained together
Houses pristine linked by elliptic lawns
Kittens dance into finding

Poised like this in hot rooms
Posture abstracts the engineer’s folded fever
Scaffolds corroded by smoke

The ashes pepper and heat my desk
Days that dervish with reddened penumbra
Through every door you shed your soul

You’re scarring everybody’s face
for some small flicker of the truth
You’re ransacking your house
to relieve the heat of chaos
in your head–You’re eating all the
quiet you’ve gathered
for some small enduring pause
in the chatter that kills you
You’re beating like a feral thunderstorm
You’re beating like weather on fire
You’re cutting precious slits
into the walls
hoping that out there you can
catch your breath–

And I’m walking down a snow-dazed street
empty but not innocent

I’m sorry you dissolved like that
Those bastard equations sabotage objects
prying them from their contexts
There’s so much sadness in the world

when you want the light to be plush like a lover
You don’t think I’ve thought this all through but
I have–It’s a world of draggable edges
and malleable boundaries–It’s a word

sucked from a burned tooth
and the whole time there you are humming like
a puddle–No longer meaning anything
to your clothes–These lawless horses and
their riders turn your lemonade to teddybear

and there you are clutching to your chest
the rain and the snow

Dude where the inboxes empty into the ocean
is where the ocean empties into our language
is where language empties into the elasticity of light
and that’s where I eat my lunch

I tell you this dude in the true spirit of comradery
If I don’t look you in the eyes it’s because I don’t like
invasions–I’ve been practicing stillness like a light
flurry after midnight walking Broadway in

a ghost town–Coated in deepest soot dude
covered over in deepest soot–Why does it feel like
you’re drowning in social marketing dude
and everything you say empties you out on the street

All the voices have crowded into a corner of the sky
They fall like ash

You must log in before you access this page
and allow my tag to mark up your skin
You must identify yourself beyond all doubt

by taking my tag in–Swallow it whole or in part
as the bus shudders and the butter folds
and you talk yourself out of yourself again

They’ll catch you hovering around the last place
you ever felt good in–The trace of your blood exploding
politely and indelibly around the food

.
It makes you push the button.

http://www.lewislacook.org/snow-falling-on-white-bread/SnowFalling.jar

Snow Falling on White Bread
Java, 2008

…and I’ve been sleeping on my heels lately
rocking into and out of the great big cradle
I’ve been staring at the sky with my mouth wide
open and thanking it for astounding me

Thank you wicked crooked black trees
and you cold teeth spitting through
my winter skin–The one I love is
confused like our Black River below

its maps of sewage ice
Those waves never surrender themselves
against any breaker walls or beaches
now–I sleep amid their tense infinite

glazes–I make these beautiful airtight
bottles in which we pour green light

I dissolve along the roads. I congeal and fall away.

After days raining days of rain, my skin is hot and porous, itching with thin accusations in ephemeral veils. This is doubly compounded by alone-time:  rooms, cataloged and perplexed, repeat the same fatal wind in grimace rinds around my shape. The problem is I have never taken anything into myself, and so the infection has been allowed to build to deafening.  Now I can’t hear through all the white, all the blinds, all the clearness and wants of density. I dissolve along the roads, filled with that same fog.

To congeal and fall away in the same breath, there are motions we haven’t documented: they rise at night, and furrow my sleep with seedless grapes.

We need to be intelligent about it, not robotic. If they don’t pay take what links we can.  These veins run through the skin and transfer information and transmit information from one node to another.  I’m receiving, I’m transmitting, how many packets sent?  In a few minutes I’ll call the bill collectors.  Tinkle tinkle in the polished boardrooms of lawyers.

He is to provide no text nor modification of text without approval. Logically speaking, if the settlement planner or structured settlement broker is NOT taking a referral on the deal, then that money should be going to the tort victim, Right? You’re so passive sometimes, like you’re talking to people from under a hundred sheets of ice.

Like you’re blowing up below a thick hide.

Deluxe lesion eventually–never mind
the numbness alone and a cold bites
bones you thought you didn’t have

the balls–Tools and the smudge
on the very edges jelly of the sides
of the eyes scattered over

everything you see

here was before I got hired in–
The Dr. Spock nostrils, the waxen
efficiency, that cold-ass Nurse

Ratchet–And clangs languid blisters,
language photographs, shred docs from
a mansized safe–

Nothing the size of a man
is safe