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Juliet Cook and Robert Cole

Red Grout Echoes out Creepy Masks

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Sometimes I forget to recall
my guilty fugue all froth tangled:

red paint on tight snips
engorged lava flows
into prosthetic limbs
limping and dripping
and trying to fly.

So many dead
and so many more
don't have a lover
when they get home from
the mask factory. Mutant

fingers slam themselves down garbage disposals.
Severed hooves batter the rooftops.

Bang It Until It Explodes

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The totem sap flows
in an eco-copia malaise
down lacquered shingles. Ecto-
plasm glows brighter and brighter
and oh so bloody bright, shaking
the voodoo nexus distraught.
A carnivorous mouth and a rotating pelvis
regret having their pubic mounds shot.  
Are they human? You decide.

Coagulation Served Cold With Lemon Zest

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Allow me to place the napkin just so
upon your lap, around your neck,
the blade tip trained to your ear.

Your last meal a misshapen cup-
cake with anesthesia frosting.
Take one more bite then slightly shift
your head to the left as if you're in the midst
of getting a new hairdo. Prepare for the knife.

Or the saw blade or the bone saw.
You plead, you bargain
to taste delicious undoing.

To start dancing in your sleep, to start grinding
you down until you bleed.  To help you sleep
the sounder on a bed of made up nails.

Tied down, hacked off, so much less to potentially love.

Broken Down Glitter Witch

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Shrapnel in the hinter steer, a pandemic of pustules
(shrapnel in the nether regions, blotting paper torn into shreds)
framed by the corpse's wind, fragrant angel,
(ripped out eye holes, fuck face angles)
coward to the dusty winter, waves in crash, carousing the drunk

fog where clouds should be, a pandemic of plagues
(disconnected legs, short circuit waves ramped apart)
the feather wire where fine brooms are cropped to the snap chord,
(to the mapping board, brimming with coagulating sugar snap)
cram bones crushed in place to commemorate land lock

(pods grotesquely disproportioned by a lancet of lap dancing fleas)
and the sail boosted from the cap rest, but there's no signal,
everyone's cell is full of blood. Eel wigs writhing on top.

Stop the Madness!

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Decant the bottle and let it out
to ferment mid air, then take it back.

You know how pussies purr
and then turn into explosive devices.

Possibly the one that Lucy saw.  Not just in the sky
but rammed between the thighs. Red head cloudbursts
and crazed lightning strikes into a door standing erect.

Paper tornadoes all over the place.
The telegraph reads DON'T
stop   DON'T stop   DON'T stop  

DON'T you dare! The aftermath
is never good enough.

➥ Cook Bio

➥ Cole Bio