She's walking alone at night
forgot to take the pill
that would make her not see
the moon puking stars.
Her waist is a lie
brain matter originates
from fire & air.
She imagines mechanical
women making love
to their puff dolls
which only goes to prove
that sex isn't.
The elfin street cops
don't have the monogamous heart
to look up into her eye blanks
& tell her that Warhol is a fake.
It's only a truism
that it's raining
perfect tennis balls
in Italy.
There are not enough hands.
She wants to be cast
as dangerous but blue.
With Belmondo or Bardot
she would turn to ice cream
& trendy murders.
The sidewalks do not feel
her steps, nor care
about her long spindly legs.
She remembers the smile
of the box turtle
she lost as a kid
when the family
was not a shell,
when father would only allow
hot water
& one-way valves.
How to describe my father?
Well, I'd say that at night,
he grows amazing superpowers
& he's darker than an urge
that forgets itself
then subverts the masquerade ball.
His arms become very long,
can reach me anywhere,
dig through me,
as if I'm cracked soil
that always caves in.
Really, I'm his misfit shadow.
I once told my brother
that we are the outlines
of his flyaway words.
We'd never materialize.
Brother didn't last long
after that, he became
the space between me
& my outrageous fashion sense.
I wore black leotards
to attract superficial heat.
Father denies to the doctors
everything I say.
& who am I to argue?
After all, his ladies
claim that he's a humanitarian.
He loves soul food.
How can I pay for my drugs?
Do I have to fuck every guy
with a seesaw tongue
& baby spiders for eyes?
Do I have to rub noses
with every uptown woman
with a poodle & a master key,
whose husbands write dissertations
as to why their pets don't shit
but humans get constipated.
Do I have to sing solo
in a married man's bed
& reorganize his drawers
of semen stained underwear?
Do I have to paint myself
ultra-violet
& glow profusely?
Kyle Hemmings is the author of several chapbooks of poetry and prose: Avenue C, Cat People, and Anime Junkie (Scars Publications). 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.