Kyle Hemmings
The Agony of Saint Cleo
Neighborhood girls loved his thick hands, hairy & double-knuckled. He entertained shark-women by making collapsible churches with his fingers. Nobody laughed or fainted. A divorced friend of his mother said "I could screw you like a hex-head." He failed at numbers or at keeping promises to God. He vented sexual frustrations by pissing in graveyards or becoming addicted to porno films with ex-child stars of the 90s. When his life flat-headed, he said God, the time has come. At the church where he dispensed penance along with free candy, he couldn't look any nun in the eye for fear they could tell he wasn't a virgin. He kept his vision shifted upwards but. He suffered nosebleeds & wet stains. It went unmentioned during confessions. There were rumors of a mid-western twister heading towards the core of his sanctuary. The proctor couldn't control his bladder. Red-faced altar boys patted down stiff cowlicks before kneeling with creaky joints. Satan-worship was espoused by a young schizophrenic nun with hair on her chin. The church collapsed. The tornado swept up old habits. Cleo's fingers were stiff but still good. They would rebuild.
Neighborhood girls loved his thick hands, hairy & double-knuckled. He entertained shark-women by making collapsible churches with his fingers. Nobody laughed or fainted. A divorced friend of his mother said "I could screw you like a hex-head." He failed at numbers or at keeping promises to God. He vented sexual frustrations by pissing in graveyards or becoming addicted to porno films with ex-child stars of the 90s. When his life flat-headed, he said God, the time has come. At the church where he dispensed penance along with free candy, he couldn't look any nun in the eye for fear they could tell he wasn't a virgin. He kept his vision shifted upwards but. He suffered nosebleeds & wet stains. It went unmentioned during confessions. There were rumors of a mid-western twister heading towards the core of his sanctuary. The proctor couldn't control his bladder. Red-faced altar boys patted down stiff cowlicks before kneeling with creaky joints. Satan-worship was espoused by a young schizophrenic nun with hair on her chin. The church collapsed. The tornado swept up old habits. Cleo's fingers were stiff but still good. They would rebuild.
The Calling of Saint Stanislaus
He was a thunderstruck kid who shredded kites & tight underwear but still believed he was meant for God. If he could walk out of himself, just a soul without a bone, would he have the same name or be as clueless as a body that could not be saved? One night, he dreamed he floated up. St. Peter descended half-way down and said, "Sorry, for the time being, no immigrants are allowed to cross the border. God is in a solipsist state of mind. With foul breath too." Stanislaus tumbled back to earth, woke up with a thud and a damaged hard-on. In his post-grad years, he met a woman with vertically-challenged inhibitions & elephantine lust-schemes. In a queen-size bed, he asked her "Is heaven an eternal orgasm?" She pressed his face to her breasts, size XXX, and whispered, "I think it's better if delight comes in discontinuous frequencies." Her heart-rhythms vibrated inside his head. Middle-aged & bored as an angel, he became a celibate so he could have an occasional fall. She neutered the dog. St. Peter continued to send him updates by e-mail.
The Life of St. Xi
As a child in false curls & falsetto-high skirts, she was club footed but showed no malice towards ducks or pregnant ponds. Between pre and post something, she became a homecoming queen, distressed from consecutive traumas. Subject & object were confused, mutilated. The substitute father was a pun. Mother couldn't conduct heat or was on eternal leave of absence in another room. Below a city, moons were down with gravity but whores couldn't get decent tips. In a Bowery sub-let of contagious lottery-losers, Xi still loved the birds but she forgot to take the pill. A one-weekend husband found her ethereal by night but too promiscuous for Teflon. She gave birth to a child who disowned her. Not even a bye-bye or a clone of a kiss. Xi tried religion but reverted to pleasure principle & blunt death-wish. The pharmacist sold her three purple pills and one red one to curb her tendency to lure men into Sodom & tailspin. In later years, she gave up the two-step & lived alone. She took up painting abstracts using grids & hard light. She flipped coins at the homeless. Nights of black coffee & remissions with strangers. Someone said Flappers were coming back in vogue, but with more of an edge. After being infected by a low dirty cloud in the shape of a man, she donated the soft of her finger pads to science.
He was a thunderstruck kid who shredded kites & tight underwear but still believed he was meant for God. If he could walk out of himself, just a soul without a bone, would he have the same name or be as clueless as a body that could not be saved? One night, he dreamed he floated up. St. Peter descended half-way down and said, "Sorry, for the time being, no immigrants are allowed to cross the border. God is in a solipsist state of mind. With foul breath too." Stanislaus tumbled back to earth, woke up with a thud and a damaged hard-on. In his post-grad years, he met a woman with vertically-challenged inhibitions & elephantine lust-schemes. In a queen-size bed, he asked her "Is heaven an eternal orgasm?" She pressed his face to her breasts, size XXX, and whispered, "I think it's better if delight comes in discontinuous frequencies." Her heart-rhythms vibrated inside his head. Middle-aged & bored as an angel, he became a celibate so he could have an occasional fall. She neutered the dog. St. Peter continued to send him updates by e-mail.
The Life of St. Xi
As a child in false curls & falsetto-high skirts, she was club footed but showed no malice towards ducks or pregnant ponds. Between pre and post something, she became a homecoming queen, distressed from consecutive traumas. Subject & object were confused, mutilated. The substitute father was a pun. Mother couldn't conduct heat or was on eternal leave of absence in another room. Below a city, moons were down with gravity but whores couldn't get decent tips. In a Bowery sub-let of contagious lottery-losers, Xi still loved the birds but she forgot to take the pill. A one-weekend husband found her ethereal by night but too promiscuous for Teflon. She gave birth to a child who disowned her. Not even a bye-bye or a clone of a kiss. Xi tried religion but reverted to pleasure principle & blunt death-wish. The pharmacist sold her three purple pills and one red one to curb her tendency to lure men into Sodom & tailspin. In later years, she gave up the two-step & lived alone. She took up painting abstracts using grids & hard light. She flipped coins at the homeless. Nights of black coffee & remissions with strangers. Someone said Flappers were coming back in vogue, but with more of an edge. After being infected by a low dirty cloud in the shape of a man, she donated the soft of her finger pads to science.
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Kyle Hemmings lives and works in New Jersey. He has been published in Elimae, Smokelong Quarterly, This Zine Will Change Your Life, Blaze Vox, Matchbook, and elsewhere. He loves 50s Sci-Fi movies, manga comics, and pre-punk garage bands of the 60s.
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