Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

http://willtoexchange.blogspot.com/2007/06/sheila-e-murphy-interview-of-peter.html

…every writer has a life, and every text is a development in any committed writer’s life, no? Every life finds, with the infinite, finishing schools off with that last draught. Even texts scour pill-green leaflet cars. Now he has to clean out this pipe. A commission with God as my co-pilot, Christ riding shotgun, blasts a sour morning all over the hairy walls, understand? Pudding and catsup and pudding and ketchup: I’m playing run abreast with me, cool air split by my chest sweating tenders from antiquity, in utero. That’s all we are. Then there’s some limit beyond which glass is butted against, the bitter levees holding the bigger river furl’d and unanswerable. Baptists sit in protest of a censure from embalming. Have I already made dark that prophet’s diction, listened through by grails, by onyx, by aspiration? I persimmon. An intelligent design would take into account no knowledge of its utility. He spent the long cold winter on a pair of swimming trunks, and threw away the receipt.

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