Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

Waking cold and locked-in and waiting for
aimless and without succor ( on the cusp
pustles burst against the lame or mellowing
lemons ) wooden piano aping velvet

windows newly walled within
the lawyers ( yes a sewer yes a second
sessions that merged her id and super-
annotations ) ‘ ta-tas harrumph’d with

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