Juliet Cook

Viral Spiral


Charm School torched,
rabid rivulets sift from my paws.
Scarred, scared, but not stiff.
Who do they think I am?

I used to be pornographic eggs oozing from fruitcake.
Then I got flung into a snoring saw mill.
My mammoth splinters barbed out;
could not be devoured.

Even if partly disembodied, I cannot be severed.
I will not be formless. Even if I am convulsing;
seeping what looks like parasites in a scissor
stabbing nightmare. Except I am not parasitic.

I am skittering marrow in between distortion.
Soon to burst forth from beastly twisting;
salivating my own salvation.
Pink forks of finely-tuned fury.