Sexts from Patricia Lockwood

(1)

Image by altffour

Editor’s Note: “"Tricia u MUST join Twitter to network with Poets" *tricia joins twitter, falls in with a million Comedy Fuckers, forgets what poem even is*” — @TriciaLockwood, September 2, 2011

Patricia Lockwood is an actual poet—published in the New Yorker, even!—who has inappropriately touched the imaginations of a thousand followers with her “sexts.” Born around the time of the Anthony Weiner scandal, the genre congeals gobs of glowing poetry from networked life’s greasy stew of blunt spam copy, collaged pop culture, and constant little spells of titillation. This is a selection of Lockwood’s hottest sexts.

 


 

A ghost teasingly takes off his sheet. Underneath he is so sexy that everyone screams out loud

Do you smell like a mousetrap? I am a cruel woman and I simply adore the smell of mousetraps

A Teenage Turtle takes extreme pleasure from sticking his head in and out of his shell very slowly while a rat watches

Midnight. My wife and children are asleep. Breathlessly I begin to search for my favorite kind of porn: "Women Standing in Big Jeans"

THE BIGGEST WOMEN IN THE TIGHTEST JEANS!!! U WONT BELIEVE YOUR EYES! THESE WOMEN SIMPLY CANT GET ENOUGH STANDING AROUND IN BIG JEANS!

These jeansluts stand up really straight with their tits out, holding the jeans as far away from their bodies as possible! SO RAW

This girl wants a denim vest, a denim scrunchie, and denim Keds -- are YOU the sicko who's going to give them to her

You are miniature, and I put you in the bell of a saxophone and play a long soulful B-flat

I am Everest and I JO while a 100-year-old grampa tries to climb me. At the moment he reaches my peak I produce a thunderous rockslide

I am FWB with Scrooge McDuck. He asks me to pretend to rob him. "IS IT A BEAGLE BOY," he gasps, as I break into his money bin

"I'm so wet," you murmur. Marmaduke raises his glistening face. "That's because I'm famous for drool," he laughs

Easy-Listening Dracula drinks the blood of a saxophonist. He smiles and feels the mellow blood spread through him like smooth jazz

I am a Charmin bear. You are a bear trap that is baited with a soft roll of toilet paper. I step inside you and "lose" my "leg"

I am a mushroom in a forest. There are drops of dew all over my tip. Nabokov reaches down a hand to pick me

I teach an African Grey Parrot to sext. He sexts at the level of a two-year-old -- "mama, mama, mama"

I guess the number of gumballs in a jar. I'm off by just one gumball. "I'm pink," it whispers, & then leaps into my mouth & chews me

I repeatedly crush dollhouse furniture under my feet until I feel "big enough"

A leprechaun sits in a pot o gold. He removes gold pieces 1 by 1 to reveal his nudity. At the end he tears off his beard. It's a woman

An elephant picks up his 1000000th peanut. Whoops, it is the orange candy. He sucks it up his trunk and tastes sugar for the 1st time

The year is 1960 and I am Cary Grant. Kinetic typography sneaks up and fingers me. It writes STARRING CARY GRANT all up in my guts

I am a living male turtleneck. You are an art teacher in winter. You put your whole head through me

Rainbow go into a prism and it shoot SO MUCH white light

You walk into the bathroom and see a baby in a tuxedo peeing at one of the urinals. He turns around and smiles. It's Jordy

You unzip and begin to tinkle like a man. Jordy looks over and his eyes get huge. He begins to cry. "It's hard to be a baby," he sobs

I kill a big wasp with an Animorphs book. When I turn the book over there's a baby leg stuck to it! Animorphs are real

The word "gaylord" falls in love with another word that means the same thing. His dad Shakespeare CRIES with joy when he tells him

I play Whac-A-Mole and all the moles let me whac them. They rise up to meet me, they desire nothing more than to be whac

You get a Tyra Mail that tells you the date of your death. You scream uncontrollably in the voice of an excited model

Mavis Beacon bursts out of the computer and shows me where to put my fingers

Mavis Beacon urges my fingers to move faster, faster, and ever faster. "80 words a minute or your money back," she whispers

"Type this random sequence," instructs Mavis Beacon. The letters T-E-A-C-H-E-R W-A-N-T-S T-O F-R-E-E-K appear before my eyes

Mavis Beacon's neck gets long & she bursts out of her clothes. She was a bronto all along. "Type my new name APATOSAUR," she thunders

I read "The Monster at the End of This Book" to you. Together we turn the final page. Surprise, I cut a hole in it to put my d through

I go up to heaven and open God's Bible. It contains only a single sext: "Im hard"