writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

enjoy this writing from Kyle Hemmings
in the free 6" x 9" 2014 PDF file chapbook:

Edie, Come Back
(click on the front cover image or the
title text to download the free PDF file)
Edie, Come Back, a Kyle Hemmings chapbookbook
Order this writing
in the book
What Must be Done
(a Down in the Dirt
July - Dec. 2014
collection book)
What Must be Done (Down in the Dirt issue collection book) get the 372 page
July - Dec. 2014
Down in the Dirt magazine
issue collection
6" x 9" ISBN#
paperback book:

order ISBN# book

Dirty Resurrection

Kyle Hemmings

    I was making love with this jazz musician named Pauly. We were doing it inside a coffin. It was an unknown coffin, any body’s tomb, an unclaimed life. We kept the lid closed. This meant that we had to climax before we ran out of air. He came, but I didn’t. Pauly climbed out and closed the lid. In the dark, I thought about the room that my father and brother tried to seduce me in, their breaths forming words and the words forming solids with sharp edges. That room felt like a tomb. This happened while my grandmother was somewhere admiring her collection of glass dragonflies and Lady’s Slippers and cute sun maidens with big floppy hats. I managed to push off the lid that was their bodies. I was always in some way or another suffocating until I was nothing but air, transparent skin, a little girl’s haphazard articulation of bones. One might have thought that I was an exotic bird not worth protecting. I yelled for Pauly to open the damn thing, that I couldn’t breathe. I feared he walked away. He opened the coffin that smelled of my sweat, my rosewater thinned-out lust. I stumbled out, dizzy, speechless. Pauly said that next time he’d like to do it in Antarctica on a floating piece of ice floe. He said that after we were done, we’d become very heavy and we’d sink and stay frozen until rescued by a blue whale that didn’t charge for private cruises. We’d wake up in a kinder world. I said Pauly, we can’t make love anymore. Why, he asked in a grumbling tone. Because, I said, now I’m the daughter born from a thought by Jesus Christ; I’m a pure spirit in a mini-skirt. I will crucify you with invisible nails. I will cock tease you until you are damaged and blue. I will be the face floating in your tasteless chicken broth.



Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...