<i><b>Wicked Alice Poetry Journal

Juliet Cook

SHRINE #1 (PIG BOX)

gaping piglet maw
glutted with wilted posy
of plucked-from-stem Antirrhinum
malformed confetti

the mouth-zone exhibits
distended blue
stretched balloon aesthetic
the rest of her is painted

anodized bronze
with one pink strip
traversing the underside
little whore slit

pleasingly plump
corn-fed porker
crotchless panties
in a metal box

snapdragon flaccid mouths
won't make a sound anymore
stuffed inside another mouth
rouge gorge gag

mouth within mouth muteness
sweet postmodern muzzle
dead flowers to muffle her
occlude the oinking tongue

jaw-flapping coven cloy
cloven-hoofed teat-freak
painted lady corpse coy
hussy with her pink peek

of rigor mortised meat
wired neatly into place
dilated throat
sticky silk sate

of many smaller throats
collapsed into limp bouquet
tilt her for the grand finale
orifice spills soundless pink stamens

SHRINE #2 (DOLL HEAD)

tilt her and her eyes snap open
tilt her and her eyes snap closed

rip out hair to reveal the follicle holes
mount her head

pound nails into her
bald rubber dome
what does it smell like?
baby powder vaseline

turpentine bleach bug powder
vinegar tuna fish peach

bow-shaped lips shellacked
with ersatz sateen

they would smile the entire time
even if she was shaken

until her eyes fell out

SHINE #3 (POISON JAR)

In grandmother's dank basement,
the button jar lurked
like some eerie cornucopia
of small, cold shapes.

Metal, scalloped edges, dangling threads
in tiny holes. I just knew
if the lid was unscrewed,
that mother of pearl button would fly

through the musty air,
slice betwixt my lips,
implant itself into my tongue.
An alien communion wafer

with razor sharp circumference.
When I pressed my lips firmly together,
refused the suspicious elixir,
grandmother's doilies began to ruffle,

flap like the harvested wings
of some antique thing with a hideous beak
and a hankering for the flesh
of sinful little girl fingers.

Grandmother made me kiss Jesus' feet
on the crucifix before I went to bed.
She forced my head into those small cold metal shapes
(tiny holes, dangling threads)

and the bedroom smelled like yellow death
and the clock's excruciating tick tick tick
and the yellow blanket muffled me.
I dreamt of a poison jar. A razor sharp beak

protruded from the lid
so we could feel it in the dark
and know not to drink,
but the button jar lid was a trick.

With no warning, I could feel it
ravish my throat. Clamor in my abdomen.
Unsewn buttons clinking, flitting , slitting...

Grandmother clapping her age-spotted hands
at my ecstatic nosebleed.

Juliet Cook's recent poetic projects include The Laura Poems, a series of ten poems about Laura Palmer of Twin Peaks fame, hand-designed into limited edition, ribbon-bound chapbooks and available for purchase via BloodPuddingPress.etsy.com. Recent publication credits include Sein Und Werden WOMB, and Venereal Kittens. Cook's personal blog, CandyDishDoom is housed at www.xanga.com/CandyDishDoom. Her full-length poetry manuscript Horrific Confection is currently seeking publication, as is her new chapbook Heart Urchin.