Hannah Cohen’s Bad Anatomy puts its viscera on the table—this is today’s chapbook for punk rock girls, pulling the reader through starlight, road trips, and the gynecologist’s office. Cohen’s concise lyrical precision is a poet wielding a rusty scalpel as she imagines she is a television, finds herself down a gory Google rabbit hole, and menstruates for the loss of the America we’d hoped for. As she says in Sad Girl’s Drinking Ghazal she “[likes] things both false and true.” And such are these poems: Stories that have gathered here to eat you whole and fill you up.