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Her Voice Shoots Out of a Rusty Espresso Machine She is pressurized and bitter, but in close proximity to assembly-line macaroons who have had their powdered sugar artfully applied. My café noir doppelganger. Glitter-eyed ghost of a glass case. She haunts sweet puff pastries. Flaunts scissor blades unattached from the pink plastic handles and buried up to the hilt in muffins, drizzled with bloody trim. Her voice shoots out of a rusty espresso machine. Her laugh is the not-quite-creamy sound of reddish-brown froth floating atop a dark heart. She injects spider silk into skim milk. Infests cherry tartlets with fleas. Denatures my demitasse into an errant vehicle. It creeps across the tabletop. Rattles at the edge. Waits to spin its web. When it casts its 8-legged shadows, steamy ball bearings grow inside flaky scones. Like steely spider eggs. Like colossal pearls. Like a bullet in the pit of my throat, a mouthful of hot crema. |
| Juliet Cook’s recent poetic projects include Girl Gang and The Laura Poems, two limited-edition, hand-designed, ribbon-bound chapbooks of original poetry available from BloodPuddingPress.etsy.com. A few of her recent publication credits are Sein Und Werden, Wicked Alice and listenlight. Several new poems and manuscripts are seeking homes and slinking around and misbehaving hither & thither. Her blog is called CandyDishDoom. email: JulietX@Bust.com |
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