j/j hastain is the inventor of The Mystical Sentence Projects and is author of several cross-genre books including the trans-genre book libertine monk (Scrambler Press), Apophallation Sketches (MadHat Press), Luci: a Forbidden Soteriology (Black Radish Books), The Non-Novels (Spuyten Duyvil) and The Xyr Trilogy: a Metaphysical Romance of Experimental Realisms. j/j’s writing has most recently appeared in Caketrain, Trickhouse, The Collagist, Housefire, Bombay Gin, Aufgabe and Tarpaulin Sky.
Juliet Cook's poetry has appeared in a multitude of literary publications, recently including FLAPPERHOUSE, Ghost Proposal, H_NGM_N, ILK, and Menacing Hedge. She is the author of more than thirteen published poetry chapbooks, most recently including POISONOUS BEAUTYSKULL LOLLIPOP (Grey Book Press, 2013), RED DEMOLITION (Shirt Pocket Press, 2014) and a collaborative chapbook with Robert Cole, MUTANT NEURON CODEX SWARM (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2015). Cook's first full-length poetry book, Horrific Confection was published by BlazeVOX in 2008 and her second full-length poetry book, Malformed Confetti, is forthcoming from Crisis Chronicles Press later in 2015. You can find out more at www.JulietCook.weebly.com.
Paradoxical Dive Back Down
Christen by chrism
chasing unattainable
chastity. Graft a suit
to assist you with the state
of your wrists.
Drizzling splayed fluff
or is it blood combined with moon silver?
They can tell you you’re splatter painting down
the steeples but you’re creating your own
red toned ventricles
your own everlasting tome.
Who knew the body could be
so much? Who will hold
the splayed sides of the casket
for your next body (p)art?
Me myself and I?
Charm school/chasm/eyeballs
burst out and fly
off the rails.
Were guardrails
supposed to keep things
on the road? Or be bent
as ramps to shoot
moving amples
up like chutes. We
are making our way toward
flight and it keeps making us
ricochet out spires that shoot
spores instead of bullets: a relief
a reason to keep
on in the name of Gaia
Whether in fracture
or in frith how do we contain
our oscillating umbilicus
and what if
he or she
did in fact
jump off,
leap?
Into the boiling sea,
every bit of skin sizzling
collarbones steaming
voice box glinting out
undulating sting rays
wrapped around mons
venus heat, (non)human meat
sparkling waves of killer teeth.
Paradise found.