Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

for Lindsay

The lessons your eyes teach me are worth this cloistering; four walls, no floor, restlessness of sibilant water below me. In Ephrata, snakes singed with arsenic assembled by essence contaminate a hint of dissatisfied intellectualism; how can it be that the book of your lips opens upon me, and a snow-globe crawling with earthquakes reads itself to a shatter on the rocks, drawing the lips of the lake? Its true, I am a feral creature, returned through crushing to a wild where every piece was lost, where living is a castrated creeping through hard lattice cynicism, who missed his mother unweaned and unlearning. I got by with the skin of my teeth, and grew layer by layer this insensate hide.

I’m moved by every muscle, by writhing around the rocks in my way. I eat the unsuspecting.

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