Postmodern Poetry – Xanax Pop by Lewis LaCook

for Lindsay

Stories of men who have caught the sun in a noose
are widely spread–Mountain of dried herbs,
the magic things cops can do with computers.
Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime

I got Ice in my Veins, Blood in my Eyes,
my mind on that bubble you-know-where
This net is intended to catch the sun
I swear I can respond intelligibly to this

Your eyes, which are beyond, can’t be painted because painting is counterfeit—me, I just woke up, rebooted, took some pills, bought some cigarettes, then someone spoke and I went into a dream about you, an achy dream that peered into your flesh, looking for that soft and fragile hidden—your shih tzu shot out of the blue—all through school I had a lop-eared bunny-pet, his name was goethe because John and I loved to address him as hare goethe, get it, hare, herr—here I woke one afternoon he spasmed and he died—and that was the end of my first marriage, as if the rabbit had come to represent our home—I dream your home is with me, Lindsay Colleen, tracing the densities that make universe possible within you—i hear you breathing over there—rubbing my chest in the bloody ice—rubbing you in your liquid state into my heart again and again—the clearest thing I remember about my father’s death is—when did you start coming in a cream–

They announced it over the loudspeaker
in school

With the singularity of gesso
the trace and taint of curdled language
What I dragged behind me I chose to drag behind me
fog-milk skimming the margins of my skin

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