H ❤ g h T e a
from "Psychic Privates"
I took minutes in the salad days of our love.
Even if it all burns out within a month,
you were still the one.
I cheer when you beat me
because your team is my team.
The pleasure of winning is too great a reward,
unless we’re playing for keeps.
When the machine breaks, the truth speaks:
Your breath smells like FREE CANDY.
Any attempt to fit a square peg
into a round hole
So take a hit off the crack rock,
and be my fuck machine.
It’s not gonna feel like a complete night,
unless you fuck me within an inch of my life.
In the jewelry sore,
I milk that twinkle in the eye.
When I see a garbage container,
I put a rose on it.
I take heart when I slobber you a river.
When you engineer my pussy,
I believe in absolute inclusivity.
When I water your dingaling,
But at some point, I stop dancing
and start poking meat.
At some point, I stop wondering
and start looking.
At this hottie with both perfect steamy.
Stunning in a very has-been would-be.
Doing the haunted monster wander.
Handsome in the sky with abandon.
She was elegant and cute.
She might’ve fucked your boyfriend, or two.
But she didn’t mean it—she was true.
Don’t hate her because she’s you.
Don’t hate her because she’s mammoth
in the cult of popular opinion.
Don’t date her.
I always thought that the deep space
of the profound gaping wank
of popular opinion
was helping me.
Dangling on into the strange.
Even though I’m the only one who knows the luxury
or has even had the pleasure.
To string one on both at the same
and sweeten a lasting.
Will you protect my heart,
especially in the dark?
Immersed in the heat of a girl’s understate, just to get the crick out of the star part.
Thus spake this creature who cannot openly, horribly.
I heard she killed a shrew before her eyes had ever opened.
I heard she was like a baby to the touch.
And apparently it really wasn’t much of a challenge or a victory.
Spirituality is an air-headed thing.
So go down your flower hole,
and emerge with your flower wings.
I won’t accept anything less than paradise.
Paradise is anywhere where I feel free.
Kim Vodicka: Poet. Nihilist. Spokesbitch of a Degeneration. Beavis in Scorpio. Moon in Roseanne. Penis in Uranus. Venus in ASS GLAM! She is the author of two poetry collections: "Aesthesia Balderdash" (Trembling Pillow Press, 2012) and "Psychic Privates" (White Stag Publishing, 2018 [forthcoming]). She is also responsible for the "Psychic Privates EP", a poetry chapbook on 7” vinyl (TENDE RLOIN, 2017). Her poems, art, and other abominations have been featured in Spork, Epiphany, Industrial Lunch, Smoking Glue Gun, Luna Luna Magazine, Paper Darts, The Volta, Tarpaulin Sky, Makeout Creek, Dusie, Mojo, Best American Experimental Writing (BAX) 2015, and many others. Though her domain name has lapsed to our internet porn overlords, you can still cruise her at ih8kimvodicka.tumblr.com.