photo from pixabay
The doll's twisted nerves float around this bedroom then start flying then start crashing down in every room in the house. Ripping the wallpaper open; searching for the angel who disappeared. Something lives underneath the static. Turns up the rippling electric sound so he can't be found. Hides in the dank basement so he can't be seen until you are all the way down and he's ready to make you scream to death. Glass Figurines With Stained Blood She doesn't see what she doesn't want to see. Part of me can pretend I don't see it either. Another glass figurine stained with blood, but we keep on pretending it's red paint, at least until it dries. The color quietly darkens, then starts cracking into broken pieces. But I didn't throw it directly at anyone's face. I didn't throw it on the floor. I also didn't throw it away. I shoved parts of it inside myself. I slid parts of it underneath my little table, where it remained hidden for quite awhile until she stepped on the glass. Both of us pretended it was just more red paint, then looked away, shut our eyes. My loaded garbage can turned into a small sawmill. I just didn't see the saw's teeth until it was too late. Museum of Impending Death I don't want to be a nude model on a hospital bed, upside down, with a ventilator inside me, catheterized, internally screaming, but unable to speak until I get better or die. With dyed blood red hair turning white on the top of my head, as my brain breaks down. As I turn into a brain dead stumbling flesh eater, eating my own flesh. Inside my own head, I fall down and die because nobody can live inside this upside down drugged limbo land forever. On the brink of death, I visualize sadistic vivisection. I become increasingly tortured, dead and invisible. I imagine emaciated morticians vomiting on my corpse, unable to be contained, unable to hold in the bloody water. Unable to swim all the way through this mortuary cabinet sprawled from state to state, from sea to shining sea. Death under unnatural fluorescents, spreading viral flora and fauna and amber waves of blood and more and more deaths ignored. Model Faces on a Stick (Juliet Cook & Darryl Shupe) Rickety rides flinging models to their death all for the good deal of 3 tickets per whirl. In the next room, Dick Dick Dick Goose honking as the latest model crawls inside her tiny cage. Clucking choking chicken models kick the saw dust into the air filling it with poison cockerel piss. All you can eat but the models have to dance first. Rip off their clothing, rip off their skin and dance like their lives depend on it. 6 bucks for a dill dog. Model Pony Rides (Juliet Cook & Darryl Shupe) Sad little ponygirl models with heads held down in depression. It is not up to them to know who will ride them next. They get hooked and are craving the style of a carousel horse. A beautiful ride filled with a lovely lineup of colorful animals that were never alive. Prettier than real life. This broken pony ride is a circle of girls who used to be alive, might still be sort of. Their bodies are mostly set pieces. Their bodies are mostly props. Riding crops on top the almost dead. A Calliope Filled With Model Organs (Juliet Cook & Darryl Shupe) Oh painted vile in lurid hue The snarling horse that waits for you Its motor whirrs and colours curl Inside your head the monsters whirl The new screaming tune of this hideous carousel sends the zebras running from the hunting lions. They used to move in an ongoing circle shape, going only up and down but now.... A hen that's fierce And painted blue With red eyes Wants to swallow you Shrieks of utter terror froth forth from the children in line. They are about to be stomped into replacement parts for the carousel horses. Their tiny hands Their tiny feet Such little hearts To miss a beat This model child's head needs a horn to turn it into a bloody unicorn. In sucked out (lines in Italics are from the Siouxsie and the Banshees song Carousel, from the album Peepshow) Bios: Juliet Cook's poetry has appeared in a small multitude of print and online publications. She is the author of numerous poetry chapbooks, recently including "Another Set of Ripped-Out Bloody Pigtails" (The Poet's Haven, 2019), "The Rabbits with Red Eyes" (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2020) and "Histrionics Inside my Interior City" (part of Ghost City Press's 2020 Summer Micro-Chapbook Series). Cook's first full-length individual poetry book, “Horrific Confection", was published by BlazeVOX. Her most recent full-length individual poetry book, "Malformed Confetti" was published by Crisis Chronicles Press in 2018. Cook also sometimes creates abstract painting collage art hybrid creatures. Cook's tiny independent press, Blood Pudding Press, sometimes publishes hand-designed poetry chapbooks and sometimes creates other art. Find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com. * Darryl Shupe is new to poetry (even though he's middle aged) and enjoys collaborating with his partner. In his spare time he likes to work on cars because as he says, "how else does one come up with new swear words?"