He tells you to cut off your left breast. You'd better do as he says, unless your nipples want to burn.
That breast was just an implant anyway.
It can be replaced
with a death's head moth
or death's door itself.
Or an old scratched album of The Doors
or a new woman with less
Stretch marks create their own dance move
in which you want to maneuver your way out of your flesh and all its moth holes.
You can’t help but want to move out of
the fatty strobe, create your own
strobe light, pour out the well
and mix up the bar
until piñatas are in every martini.
How do they fit? Same question
about this hot new boyfriend's shaking fit. Shake shake shake
and release all the toxins. They are
not from you but they hold you
down sort of
like he does. Maybe you're the one who has to start a fire.
j/j hastain is a collaborator, writer and maker of things. j/j performs ceremonial gore. Chasing and courting the animate and potentially enlivening decay that exists between seer and singer, j/j hopes to make the god/dess of stone moan and nod deeply through the waxing and waning seasons of the moon.
Juliet Cook is a grotesque glitter witch medusa hybrid brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, and dark red explosions. She is drawn to poetry, abstract visual art, and other forms of expression. Her poetry has appeared in a peculiar multitude of literary publications. You can find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.