the moon is some madness
those curl in

popping stars on the ceiling,
I burst apart stray thoughts

you keep the lights on
and drink in bed
praying the wolves will dissever

for they await at the blank/space
erasing histories from a page

if you lose my ember in your heart,
I cannot resuscitate its truth

we’ll wake in the morning,
perennial prey for the cruel


you ascend
to a vortex in the fog

a half mast flag
towers the ashes
spread through Sutro Baths

the distant vocal of an engine
spinning in the sky,
spins in your direction

in an azure haze,
the clouds ruminate
with diamonds and stars
as you disappear in the


the weight of sleep breaks snow

a coat of paint
your face veiled white
in the thaw, a crown molds

tattooed by light,
your frozen river sweats

the brim of a crescent,
damned in fire,
glows technicolor
above vernal heights and broken bones

as the weight of sleep breaks snow


the fog burns off
shadows trapped in glass

a house on stilts creaks like a crate
six feet above
shark teeth skimming the bay

the bridge is a woman
iron and red,
bearing carriers into the Northwest

snowy plovers skirt
under a blue lunette
as you and I slowly forget
our crimes on the land’s end

the sun was a dying fire on the horizon


when wrath has bled
the feeling arrives

I cannot displace you,
frosted strife,
you divide my loves with a
jealous ire

no soul escapes your
spinning plates,
bitter spades

(her dress is draggled and I coil like a wounded fist)

a victor with still hands,
you carry me
away from her light

by Matt Hemmerich

Matt Hemmerich is a writer living in San Francisco’s Sunset District. He is currently working on a poetry chapbook and recording an EP.

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