Out of State… by Kyle Hemmings

 

Out Of State

He sent her a text: Winters in Jersey. Living in cork-lined

rooms. Stripped down to my inner ear. I’m hearing things.

She replied: You have Michigan on your night trains. Waking up

with a crick in my neck. My days are split personalities in fogged mirrors.

He texted back: Quartz veins. Anti-muse in tunnels. Wolverines limp

in subways. fall asleep in imported armchairs. Leave dreams in wet tar.

She replied: They’re laying off the Kings of Grease. Another yellow

slip, I’ll be rancid meat. Come Home before I go short on snowfall.

End of Text.

 

Kyle Hemmings lives and works in New Jersey. He has upcoming work in Primal Zine and Matter Press. His latest e-books are You Never Die in Wholes and The Truth about Onions.

Copyright © 2013 by Kyle Hemmings

\
 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

It’s Over, A Phone Conversation… by Dan Nielsen

 

It’s Over

The sad man slouched down folding up
until his chin came to rest,
and rested, on his knees—
—fingers remaining
where they’d been, laced

atop his head because he was crying.

The woman he loved moved her hands from her hips
and used their heels to press deep
into the sockets of her eyes, and said,
“Why don’t you ever … ”

“Why must you always … ”

The sad man swayed side to side,
too far and tumbled, banged
his head hard against the edge
of a coffee table, upsetting

a vase of daisies.

The woman he loved—it was a race against time—sped
to the kitchen for paper towel.
The sad man righted himself and apologized.
The woman he loved wiped the table.
“This will leave a mark
even if you can’t see it.”

  
 

A Phone Conversation

There was a phone book attached to a wire cord.
The sad man opened it and paged through until he found a column
with his last name, touched it with a finger, and moved the finger
down until he came to

The Sad Man and The Woman He Loved.

He dropped a quarter into the slot. It hit the bell
on the way down, assuring him that everything
was fine. But then the dial tone was a dead person
on a heart monitor. He looked at the number again

and touched the appropriate pads in correct sequence.

The ringing was like a baby crying.
The woman he loved picked up.
“Hello.”
“Woman I love, is that you?”
“Yes, sad man.”
“You said I could call.”
“And you did.”
“Did you see the eclipse?”
“I saw it in the paper.”
“It was right outside my window.”
“You have a phone?”
“I’m at a restaurant. I dipped rye toast with grape jelly in the egg yolk.”
“You like doing that.”
“Do you miss me?”
“Not yet.”

 

Dan Nielsen has always lived and will eventually die somewhere in Wisconsin. He manages an art gallery: Gallery B4S, and is involved with the reading series: Bonk! He was most active in the early ‘90s when everything was paper and staples and SASEs. His work has appeared in places you’ve never heard of as well as Exquisite Corpse, Wormwood Review, Chiron Review, and other of the larger smalls from late last century. Dan Nielsen has also published work in these books: Selected Poems of Post-Beat Poets, Stand up Poetry: The Extended Anthology, and Created Writing: Poetry from New Angles.

Copyright © 2011 by Dan Nielsen