From a new mini-review of "Projectile Vomit", an E-chap by Juliet Cook that's more than ten years old!
(One interesting factor involved with me reading older poetry of mine that I haven't read much in recent years {since I'm rather frequently writing new poetry and reading other people's poetry} is that it can backtrack me to certain memories of myself in the past. For example, one of the poems in this collection, "Bubble Wrap" backtracks me to my mid to late twenties when I was focused on my own bones, was disgusted by chicken bones, wanted to be unnaturally skinny so that as many bones stood out as much as possible from my own skin, and had fainting spells. Below are a few lines from my "Bubble Wrap")
I wanted to hone my own finessed
utensils.
Flay the muddled layers. Trace
the gleaming details
of tibia, femur, vertebrae
displayed like perfect syllables.
I wanted to revise. Crush marrow in mortar & pestle.
Devise a new underpinning that
would glow
beneath my skin with cut gem
precision.
Then my fainting spells would
taper.
Then my vision would stop
blurring
fuzzy sweater sleeves into stunted
wings;
into indefinable stings and
squawks as I tried to gain accentuation
on another slasher flick
stage-set check-up table
with another ambiguous layer
removed.
My sharpened elbows exposed in
their transitional pose.
My new beak-job too sore to peck
out those awful eyes.
Those indiscriminate spies, how
dare they
take my bait before I’d even
hooked it.
Those gluttonous sluts. I hadn’t even cast myself.
This flesh for cash hack-job was
not what I wanted.
I hadn’t even sexily spiked
myself.
Thank you to Jason Denness for this review, of which you can read more HERE - https://www.goodreads.com/review/show?id=2836858082
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