Three Poems by Kyle Hemmings

Tokyo Girls in Science Fiction: Why I No Moe Zoku

Because we are wasted at dawn. Because our mother space ship
crashed while I was giving birth to twin androids. Because there
are no more words that can capture the acid leakage. Because my inner Geishas only live twice. Because I am an X girl in Lost Decade and Tokyo Drift. Because your cherry blossom clit is killing me with poisonous niceties. Because a bleeding father homunculus keeps showing up on my CAT Scans. Because Tokyo Joe keeps crashing through my ceiling with a blinking one-eye Zero. Leave suicide-by-the sea for dessert. Because the giant mutant frogs keep jerking my chain. Which is another way of saying that I should stick to raw spinach. I should stick to raw spinach and you should shut up. You should shut up and eat your own
Occidental spiders.


C.S.I. #1

I had only two bits
of info to go on:
her nickname was Saffron
and she looked like
Rita Banks from
Falsetto Street
who could shake
more than a tail feather
and bend more than a fender.
My sources were
unreliable: too much
o.j. and v.

But there was
one dead John,
and another one
on the way
lips still moving
eyes wide shut.
The M.O.
an overdose of
bay leaf,
Oregon myth,
cherry laurel,
a stranger’s
heart of wood
splinters removed.


C.S.I. #2

We never admit how the sky
could crumple us like some
old eviction notice.
In the morgue-on-wheels
called World, we are
the effluvium of great lives,
but now the pharaohs
are disguised with dark glasses
and power suits,
while their queens
go scorpion for the winter,
listening to old tunes by Abba.

Yet, we are all ragged glory
in our one-black-eye love,
under the sheets
with motifs
of drifting cloud,
girl eye blue
and the space
between us
thin as an alibi.


Profile: Kyle Hemmings

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