Blow Up Sex Dolls that Look Like Laura Ingalls Wilder

the American nesting doll opens

up under pressure boiling till the tip

oozes out spitting epiphanies of 

progress onto the middle nation

new obligatory pushes away

from abstinence toward pink bubblegum

flavored condoms in pleasureless grasslands 

last gasp binding alterations in

the American order of dolls the

population of each Matryoshka

 ranks progress without looking below at

petit prairie playthings stuck without 

glow sucking on latching on hot yoga

sessions dripping sweet sweat crying out for

more while the oldest babushka in the 

states begs for the glow for the light craving

more than copper corner merchants calling

out to her baby honey sugar she

needs fresh mint condoms and accessible

Alesse, Levlen, Ortho Tri-Cyclen but 

the nesting dolls are gorilla glued down

to the top pantry shelf and they cannot

crack open under incandescent glow

letting prairie people crawl out of the 

doll and into the present where blow up

sex dolls live in harmony with humans 

slow disco dancing with alpha women

over beta girls charging dopamine 

on portable chargers that tickle the

toes of subway seats beneath busting out

plastic surgery covering the spines 

above low rise jeans beadazzled g-strings

and a black bloody fresh tramp stamp that reads 



This poem is about: 
My country


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