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C ❤ c k a d o o d l e D o o z i e
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Ah was bone with original sin.
Come doom along with me. |
Don't try to stop and thick. Try not to thick about it. |
Lick at me sidelong.
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Get me down.
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Long live the all Tylenol'd out.
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You cross my mind the way you cross the line.
Keep it up, eyes, may just show you my spine. I may let you lick that spinal tap, the results. Then we’ll see what some kinda love. |
On the night of perpetual sleepover.
The little bit of wedding we have between our hands and feet. Well, whatever pleases you is pleases me. |
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Honey, when you won’t me, I will chase you down from the scrape. For your fat blonde autograph.
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This song is about blah blah gimme a gun I’m sad. This song is about you. |
I’m not naked, I’m sad.
In a blackout blanket of soul stink. Gimme a gun, it’s for my problem. A pistol in the kisser. THE KISSER. Which one? |
I got two pair.
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I give head like it’s rocket science.
I know every inch’s intricate. My assless straightjacket is Gucci. I apply lipstick to the anus for maximum results. |
But you, my crush,
can float bawdy between every with nary a heart’s consent. |
Savoir fairies.
Shame on me when I had the beast to see. |
I don’t wanna meet anyone in that promised land.
I wanna be left alone in that promised land. I wanna mope around in a corner in that promised land. |
Thirty dollars owed to the sad bag.
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The soul is a retard.
The soul is a whore. The shortest distance between two points is a blowjob. Little crack hoe, and I don’t care. |
I learned all of this during a brief stint in hell.
Where a wise man once told me fuckin’ A-B-C-D-E-F-G, and she was absolutely correct. |
But whatever,
I’m tard, and I feel fat, but thanks for listening. Build yourself a Neverland Ranch with this shit list of mine. |
T h e T a c t l e s s I m ❤ g i n a r y
Some days feel like covering up a murder. |
I buried a mister and kissed her soil.
I wanted something that would disappear upon payment. |
I didn’t want to fall in love,
I just wanted to space out for a minute. |
Not a lover so much as a bonfire
to befriend. |
I am Mark Twain,
and you’ll never love again. |
So gather ye exaspberries while ye may.
Buy ‘em all a mean shot of moonlight. |
If they don’t say no,
presume. |
You know it’s been a good evening
when you got that wolf smell all over you |
So thank you all for the blueness of the moon
and for the wonderful night it has beer. |
Like a Siamese to the slaughter.
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When he played he played he-heart.
Laid down his cards, he-flush of hearts, if hearts, of only. |
If only he would heart
the way that we heart so purely. |
The player is ever too dreamy.
The self is entirely too heavy to true. When all I want is for thy which anuses, true which anuses abuse. |
We rot for material.
We rubber band and saran wrap for hope. We bareback for simplicity. |
When I don’t suggest a condom,
it’s because I’d rather die of love than anything. |
I'd rather die of love.
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So grab me by the grace.
Put on your gangbang face. Kiss me, you drool. |
Botch up your bitches.
No holes barred. Fuck a safe word. |
Tonight thou shalt circumscribe thine inchlings,
as I stand in the place where we bowel movely novelty. |
Those queens of hearts,
those spades of retards, blonde-eyed blue-haired heroin browns, too many panties in a bunch, too many bitches clutchin’ they pearls. |
Cuz when the tough get goin’,
the twat get goner. |
So prose your vomit and kisse mée.
There’s mistress in my soul. Put your thing in my cohesive hole. Crack wild and go too far inside. |
My vagina means the bottom of your heart.
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Excerpts of "T h e T a c t l e s s I m ❤ g i n a r y" originally appeared in Finery.
KIM VODICKA is the author of Aesthesia Balderdash (Trembling Pillow 2012). She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Louisiana State University (2013). Her art and poems have appeared in or are forthcoming from tenderloin, Cloudheavy Zine, Shampoo, Spork, RealPoetik, TheThe Poetry Blog, Finery, Women Poets Wearing Sweatpants, Epiphany, Industrial Lunch, Moss Trill, Smoking Glue Gun, Luna Luna Magazine, Paper Darts, The Gambler, The Volta, Electric Pumas, Deluge, and The Electric Gurlesque. Her manuscript, Psychic Privates, was a 2014 Braddock Prize semifinalist. She invites you to cruise more of her work at ih8kimvodicka.tumblr.com.
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