andy warhol


The air smells of fish

and the wind is whipping

hair into faces.


A performer holds six knives

and slings them into the air,

smiling, dodging, and catching them again.


Paddle boats shaped like dragons

line the dark harbor

with paint-chipped snarls.


A small rollercoaster

roars with bells and

rides in bent circles all night.

-Lu Terlikowski

Snakes in the Andy Warhol Museum

Monochromatic films of sleeping outtakes;

You want to look at the actors? Come take a look.

No one knows about the snakes.


Floating, silver clouds that glide and make

Light. Steady as we shook.

Living for the outtake.


The homoerotic issues we stab with our stakes,

Announcing to the world who we fuck—

But no one knows about the snakes.


Back to the Factory where we are alive and fake

Eyelashes, tits, and smiles spill to the camera that took

The only scene not meant for the outtakes.


Let’s call it avant-garde heartache—

The way we are and the way we are when they look.

Has anyone asked you about the snakes?


Loud, breathless, present, awake.

How do you make every moment one for the books?

No one sees our monochromatic outtakes

No one knows about the snakes.

-Lu Terlikowski