Julia Cohen
Fill Me with Poison!
I Have A White Napkin Strapped To My Head

For a while
each year I find
another one of my holes

Dark spots to explore
I have another


Old telephone calls
recording the parade
of babies bedizened & sinking bibs


Speaking in bubbles
welcome weightless holes

From the window to the roof
curved glass & cotton snubbed:
An exit strategy for the night

I bury the dark behind
our house
in exigent avoidance


For a while
the record player turns off
on its own

I say phew when I click
the light switch

A curve of this shape?
Have another





The Diver

Those waters those underground fires
an expressive window like a spot
on the map

a firsthand swiftness
your child, your inner globe

I touch the bottom
of the map, of the lamprey

against your moon-blocking shade
drinking is a clear creature
flicking its gills over
the nightstand

I call out to your—to an apparatus
like a face