in parentheses

Matt Hemmerich owes music, particularly bands like Radiohead and The National, for his interest in the symbiotic relationship between language and melody. His poems are crafted by listening to the atmosphere of a given song, which inspires the subject matter and narrative.

“Today”

death of Polaroid
magnets in the sky
I saw you walk away

our lives, polarized in
relentless fanfare
swept astray

a light heart, heavy hand ain’t the deep blue, love

I recall holding on—
the clouds were trampolines
that catapult us
to fever dreams
on the northwest bluff

those reveries never last long enough to bruise them

I always lose them
when the wake
arrives

“Farewell”

bloated cloud bellies
swiveled and flipped
(rain hit like cuspid tips)

shelter under
an ovulating web
coaxed love to me.
sipping off serotonin,
it drip-dried this ease

blackberry blisters
floor my feet
as sap stuccoes trees
I now scrape with screams

ants shovel flesh away
from a pretty finch’s chords.
she can’t sing me to sleep
anymore

from silver capillaries, a misty ghost seeps

“wake”

your history tattooed
in braille
was no lark

I tread past
the cascades
right where it belonged

oak arms creaked
under a sunrise sigh,
where cinders
settled in moss

your history now
integrated with
the earth

there were no steps
crackling through
the remains
of that shadow box

a tangled kite
hung in wretched form

I buried your bluebirds breathing