Two poems by Kyle Hemmings

When Poe Believed in His Own Vision

He went moonblind with abstract dust. Or head spun with madness, he hung upside down from the trees of German Romantics, lean & mystic with solo reflections. His potential lover only allowed him a silhouette, a promise of beautifully self-destructing sunsets if he recited to her the words of the most literate Caliphs. One night while drunk, his shadow stumbled into her closets. He inhaled stale perfume & moth. When the too-pouty girl rejected him on the grounds of too much space between their years, he dreamt of snakes in his bed, venom in his rye. On moors with no riders, he’d let the wind wrap & bugle him. He’d die a lonely man starving for French meter. He became the last wheeze & breath before the widows shut their windows & said bonne nuit.


With animal soul
you return to me
after the hunters
have shot & missed,
I feed you sunflower
seeds & the buzz-flies
of my need, still rich
in protein, although
bitter. I apologize
for words that grazed
your wounds. We make
love, kiss with
rainbow tongues,
a fawn wanders into
the house, jumps into
our bed. We cradle her.
She has your eyes.
She understands longing.

Kyle Hemmings is the author of several chapbooks of poetry and prose: Avenue C, Cat People, and Anime Junkie (Scars Publications), and Tokyo Girls in Science Fiction (NAP). His latest e-books are You Never Die in Wholes from Good Story Press and The Truth about Onions from Good Samaritan. He lives and writes in New Jersey.