Tuesday, July 16, 2013


....based on the life of ex-Warhol superstar, Edie Sedgwick.

Tonight, I picked up a master sadist. 
He was sitting at a table 
at Max's Kansas City. 
I could tell by his bulging muscles 
and ingeniously wicked smile 
that he lived to kill 
waif starlets like me. 
I called him my Dr. Know. 
When I brought him to my apartment, 
I said we're not here 
to share a bottle of prune juice 
or to discuss my romantic granny's
 sweet tooth. 
He failed me. 
Couldn't smother me 
without the proper training manuals. 
After thowing me to the floor
for the fifth time, he hurt his back
and I couldn't get up. 
He left the room. 
I crawled over to the red telephone 
and dialed Andy Warhol. 
I told him that I wouldn't be straight 
for another year. 
I imagined him snickering. 
He said it's a shame 
if you can't floss your teeth. 
I said go fuck your Brillo pads. 
He laughed and hung up. 

About Kyle Hemmings:
Kyle Hemmings lives and works in New Jersey. His work has been published in Elimae, Matchbook, Corium, Smokelong Quarterly, and elsewhere. He loves dogs, cats, and 60s garage bands.

No comments:

Post a Comment