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.
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
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
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.
her recent publication credits are Sein Und Werden, Wicked
Alice and listenlight.
and manuscripts are seeking homes and slinking around
and misbehaving hither & thither. Her blog is called
CandyDishDoom. email: JulietX@Bust.com