Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

for Lindsay

I’d do anything not to be in that cold room
as you can tell by the pills I just washed down

Well, everyone’s gotta sleep
even vein-frosted stars fogging the windows

Everyone’s gotta learn sometime
The safety of angels, come-hither at the threshold

pulling me to some half-remembered satisfaction
before mothers do what they do, and fathers

crack jagged and askew along the walls of your sleep
You murmur that the cold can’t touch me, and warm your hands

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.