Rebecca Warlick Cooke
Poems by
Rebecca Warlick Cooke
I quit drinking the way I was
Now I just drink the way I do now
WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH WOMEN
Have patience
Grow into your beauty
Wear no expression
Expose yourself to your family first
MANTRA
Accused of stealing shirt
Derided over laundry
Blamed for weight loss
She’s a bigger girl
Makes corpse more obvious
Called bad for attacking
and made defensive
over class differences
Windmill flowers
squeak dangerous tire
Child Beauty protest
over abortion pageant
End up on family court
I HAVE DISGUST
I saw 2 much
Hepatitis A thru Z
New forms of leprosy
I overcame addiction
to make a hyper garbage object
Next to this
poetry is easy
poetry is nothing
I LEAVE IT UP TO YOU
TWEAKER
I must be aware of people
not to blame them
To get unstuck from lumpy repeats
on the wall to sites
This is all just too much stuff
Glass breast with jello inside
measured from the ground up
They won’t give a damn
about no psychic weapons
IT’S OK SOON THERE WON’T
BE ANY EMAIL TO SEND
After PTSD
Post Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Untranslate that for me
Sorry but I do understand you
SEX
Sex is overrated
It’s on its way out
The world still spins
I still pick up on vibes
CHEMSEX
The only thing I have to offer the world
is my boobs
Shut up
You’re making me feel good
RAPE AND ATROCITY
PLAYGROUND
How you gonna be mad
on vacation
You act like you’re burning
Fight the windless ocean
Take the Amtrak
to a desert island in
Phoenix, Arizona
with only my clone for company
The point is I am here
I hate going anywhere
I return to my furry devil
To my banana body
melting back into banana shape
My shitty lights reveal
shit crusted cocoa bean
My long sun dial died
at Hanging Hole
This year things have been going well
I stopped drinking caffeine
My computer player
moves simultaneously
in the dark
I never have to wait my turn
Rebecca Cooke is a painter from California and lives in NYC. She’s been published in Spectra and Post-Pop Lit.
(Shout out to Wallace Barker who without us doing an event together I would not have been able to meet Rebacca and thus publish these poems )