3 by blake lee pate
SLUTTIN' W/ EXO
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Every exo finds her pole
and holds it. The party is over, Exo-Girl, & I know you’ve got something up your bra, poor girl. In the morning, her eyes feel more pink. Pick your nails and remember the pink drink, the sex sex—O how we tweet exo when we tongue the keys and everyone reads. You can win them over, Exo-Girl, like you push things into your bra. Exo puts a slicker in her teeth, tells me everything has gone too long in the oven. |
EXO-GIRL SO TWENTY
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Exo-Girl so twenty
kneading dough in the kitchen pouting-me-up for a binge. Our skin-peel is ready, she says. I’m tingling like yeast. In my hand, a cup of milk. In my womb, in my deep deep part, Exo-Girl is grinding wheat to make a Lady. A naturally late girl- child, she was, born into my stomach with the know for legs and thighs: new skin is tight and spanky. New legs and arms and neck extend. The stomach pulses. Suspicion. Knows nothing of legs or want to cover them, nothing of what it feeds (a nudie photo, lacy panties, her own wetness, etc.) never flashed an ankle never even had a slice of thigh— Lend me your skin for the morning, Exo-Girl |
so I can be well
—and pink! |
THE GIRL'S AFFECT MIGHT BE
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Who opens her fresh belly & takes out:
a gem-struck stone, a howl. Who cuts at her heart: Exo-Girl is there. Who opens her juicy lips & says: lemon cake, s’il vous plait. Who yanks her gobble—miss priss—& gorges a new one: from gold, a red warble. |
BLAKE LEE PATE is from New Orleans and lives in Austin, where she co-edits Smoking Glue Gun. She received her MFA from the New Writer's Project at UT-Austin and served as the Marketing Director for Bat City Review. Her poems can be found or are forthcoming in Dusie, H_NGM_N, Forklift, Ohio, Black Warrior Review, New Delta Review, and elsewhere.
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