Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

Ledges hinge; they’re so sharp they can ribbon a softness
on a pivot with votive cleansing—swung numb
through intervals of insolent space, a body totters

crawls through a censor wafting hot fabric like bliss
in a face lit from behind the sun pulling back the street–
the sheets we’ve rinsed intensify to sand-pitch

as a body coming through the tides; the fallen draw
their shapes through crevices languid with sap—pass among
the honey tousled umbilical between us

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