Hurl Forth I My Heart

in striding sweeps

it breaks,

it dangerous gall          ah gash

from          in



he makes this  gold, drawn


then thee themselves  are



brute  embers high

& from & in as   king-

doms fall    bleak,       

Dear Heart     

vermillion  dawn

my plume,       my shine


See !

I do not possess these blushing

adornments :

his gentleman’s tail tipped

bright with crimson


But do you?

We have not time to tell                                                                        

how very pink the blossoms are


A Bird Daylights Beneath a Cloak of Mists

tiny  silver tongues cluster like tendrils

heavy with perfume     Dark pupilled-eyes

in fulvous orange,     burning & burst-

ing, lashed to my follies

my lips grown pale

with the anguish of exile     –

A death-blow  to decadence

A binding fold turned in on its absence       

Dear Tongue

Dear Toad, my Pretty Poll,

Cock Robin

my bright-winged birds o  Blessed Thing

[ The quiver of her  hand as she

lifts up  her skirt

cuts a square inch   of

flesh ]

Masks of green. Velvet masks of the heads of birds  with

feathers of gold & peacock eyes

I carried my bird like it was a jewel



Bloodied &


Having  Only  the Folly  but not the privilege of youth

having  been in my sick bed

my hand is caught

Let me know thee

let me know thee even as I am known


For Prodding                or Pricking   or Whipping     or Cutting

For instruments            of Pleasure

For making              a Hole


her violent slit mimicked my lips

& so it was

 l’amour de la mort

la mort de l’amour

Then kiss that image upon his mouth

Then kiss my mouth,  impure with memory



Tous les Chevaliers dans la Forêt

their slender hands stretching towards each bulbous stem / parallel-


[ o handsome fellows ! ]

round and round another curls

ever tightening

until both rearing upwards like snakes,  dripping with odours

beneath the sombre eyes & mouths

too cruelly undone

my long tongue forces its head under the arch

the eye follows into silence

up and down, round and round, forward and backward

enclosed in your rapacious maw

Download Émile’s poems with juvenilia here.


Émile Herm is a poet and illustrator born in Mendoza, 21 August 1972. Their work explores the ephemeral nature of the human condition, examining the tension between interior and exterior selves in which narratives are synthesised into a single or unified entity.

Mendoza aka Linus Slug: Insect Librarian is a Northumbrian poet of multiple identities. Mendoza’s publications include: “WINDSUCKERS & ONSETTERS: SONNOTS for Griffiths” in collaboration with Peter Manson: Materials, 2018, ‘science in poetry : poetry in science’ collaborative broadside with Peter Manson, Sheffield University 2015, & “Type Specimen: An Observant Guide to Linus Slug” Contraband, 2014. Visual poetry can be seen in Tentacular #1, & [as Pat Phaggs] in Datableed #9. Their poetry can also be heard at the Archive of the Now.