The Second Review of the new RED DEMOLITION by Juliet Cook

"You don’t read Juliet’s poems; no instead you shoot them into your temporal lobe and pray you don’t hemorrhage or worse yet survive this bloodletting."

from Charles Cicirella's new review of Juliet Cook's new poetry chapbook, RED DEMOLITION.

read the rest below, if you dare...

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Glitter Witch Repellent

Crack open this plethora of poems before they spoil. Before these rancid meat popsicles mutate into something even less salvageable and more worthy of contempt. You don’t read Juliet’s poems; no instead you shoot them into your temporal lobe and pray you don’t hemorrhage or worse yet survive this bloodletting. These poems speak to you with their twisted, sworn to secrecy mouths and soulless pinprick eyes. There is so much being dredged up that letting yourself off the hook is no longer an option as you turn another swollen page and die a little more inside. Snap open this murder of poems before you’re all red and swollen like a pimple or prick ready to pop or crackle like sugary cereal with an axe to grind. If you’ve ever wondered what collateral damage looks like up close and personal go and get yourself a copy of Red Demolition and remember you were warned. And remember when you were burned at the stake.

Charles Cicirella
9/5/14

published by Shirt Pocket Press and available for a mere six bucks here -
http://shirtpocketpress.wordpress.com/catalog/

RED DEMOLITION by Juliet Cook (a new poetry chapbook, published by Shirt Pocket Press)

Blood Pudding Press editor Juliet Cook now has a new poetry chapbook, RED DEMOLITION, published by Shirt Pocket Press and available for a mere six bucks here - http://shirtpocketpress.wordpress.com/catalog/

Here are a few lines from one of the 14 poems within this new chapbook ("Insecticide Dye Job" is the name of this piece):

Nobody else can keep you inside them long enough to glue you back together. Nobody wants to anyway. Nobody desires to dye your strands together and dive into your revolting mess. Nobody will stick to the different ways you tension thread your own head and then call its damage unfathomable and claim you are repeatedly dive bombed with insect stings. As if every new set of wings is bound to break and diverge towards poison aimed at your head.  Aimed straight but then warped into another spewed bottle of broken repellent. Nobody can hear your buzz flair. Your dye looks more purple inside the shower than it does on your dark hair, but nobody wants to take a shower with you.

Even if you would let them shave it off. Even if you tell them it’s the only time they can see all of you with your panties off, because you don’t want the insects to crawl inside that part too. As soon as you tell him he can keep it inside you all night, he will pull it out and let the stinging insects invade. They always pull out too soon or not soon enough. Now you’re an upset; now you’re pregnant with another swarm of confusion. Now you’re just a hole filled with nothing except your own contorted head.  

If you DO want to dive into more of this revolting mess (at least temporarily), click the link above, buy it, and dive.