Induction Obscura
They dig themselves out of the loam.
They kneel fast to the tether stone.
Cult cinema of leg braces and implants flushed
down the toilet again. Keep one (a)breast
and then switch hit her middle
name to Shape Shift. They are discolored
camera obscura cameo appearances. Ripped off,
off-beat drama breasts bleed into mess
maker mess maker make me a mess.
~Juliet Cook and Robert Cole~
Chlorofluorocarbon Propelled Into Choc-0-Jel
Her marriage was a blood bath and chemical burns.
Cheese grinders and muffin pans stuffed down
the drain, so what? Her fingers aren’t food dispensers
(but if they were, they’d be misshapen frosting nozzles
out of control). Maybe she’s not even human
anymore. She’s more like a bird with one wing
ripped off and malformed into feathered ice pops.
She’s either melting into non-existence or getting sucked
until it’s another red vomit trail. Bound to turn solvent or stale.
~Juliet Cook~
Raised Spine/Razed Spine/Conveyor Belt
She was pulled out of the dripping basin, in which she had puddled.
She knew she needed to plant her drips into pods,
then birth them out of her bodies flower pot.
Her multicolored mouth spurted – she could tell
the truth. As she spit it out, they wanted to fill her to the rim
with nail polish remover. Hold her down and pour concrete all over her stems.
Replace her multi with dis. Over and over, throw her down.
Turn her rare sequins into nothing but hardened blood, bubble-
wrapped and sent to the mask factory.
~Juliet Cook~