Thematic El❤ments


Cock E. Cuntsmart,
OG of the full body thong.

A full body misogynist,
making the hideous timeless,
and eating all of the latest pussy.

No trick unturned.

No ass unfucked.

Antisocial butterfly.

Pussy flaps take flight.

Holes, schmoles, behind zipped flys.

Cock E. Cuntsmart,
histrionic bone collector.

Purveyor of the disembodied weenie roast.


I feel a great deal of horror about my vagina.

Venus schlong trap.

The tight everlasting.

I grab my jizzy blankey and put on a bib
to catch the roofies.

Making piggy eyes for love.

I outsourced a boyfriend to autocomplete that pussy.

I crowdfunded a suicide.

My long lost boyfriend.

He was a classically trained rape whistlist.

He would’ve been a really good sport about dying.

One man is one man too many.



I have a special needs body.

Spread my Volvo, and lick my valve.

Swallow it hook, line, and sphincter.

I am just a hole for your dick to get sick in.

Cock E. Cuntsmart,
workin’ on the daisy chain gang.

Not enough moist towelettes in the world
to wash away the shame.

My pussy is salivating between spreadable butter legs.

My pussy is a petri dish.

I’ll feel less dead inside if I jump on this dick right quick.

I’ll make the same mistakes as many times it takes.

My pussy is some Huggie Bear bullshit.



All of the non-sex, the less-than-approximate sex.

The best laid plans of Muppet noggins.

Not worth a second Chicken McThought.

Oh, I wish I were an interchangeable slut.

Then everyone would be in slut with me:

A cornucopia of comorbidities.

The pathos of my special needs body.

Every atom of my being is itself a twerking ass.

My freak flag flying half-staff.

Cock E. Cuntsmart,
biologist of heartache.

Jack off of all rough trades.

God’s gift to rape.

I use every part of the emotional disaster.






I’ve seen the writing on the bathroom wall.

It hasn’t haunted me so much as it has haunted me.

It’s your semen, it’s my belly button.

My sex toilet.

Ki$$y Pu$$y, In¢.

Reverse-bukkake boutique.

I’m not Jack the Ripper,
though death becomes me.

I shit my boobs,
then vomited up a rape fantasy.

I had a good cry,
I had a good glycerine.

Dick pics, or it didn’t happen.



Kim Vodicka is the author of Aesthesia Balderdash (Trembling Pillow Press, 2012). She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Louisiana State University. Her poems, art, and other writings appear in Shampoo, Spork, RealPoetik, Cloudheavy Zine, THEthe Poetry, Women Poets Wearing Sweatpants, Epiphany, Industrial Lunch, Moss Trill, Smoking Glue Gun, Paper Darts, The Volta, Queen Mob’s Teahouse, Makeout Creek, The Electric Gurlesque, Best American Experimental Writing (BAX) 2015, and many others. Her manuscript, Psychic Privates, was a 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize Finalist. Cruise more of her work at