Andrew Hemmert
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andrewhemmert.bsky.social
Andrew Hemmert
@andrewhemmert.bsky.social
1.2K followers 1.7K following 67 posts
Florida poet living in Denver. No Longer at This Address forthcoming in Fall 2025 from the University of Pittsburgh Press. Pre-orders are live via the link below!

https://andrewhemmertpoetry.com/no-longer-at-this-address/

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andrewhemmert.bsky.social
No Longer at This Address is out today! Buy it from your local bookstore, or directly from @upittpress.bsky.social press. I truly loved writing this book, and I hope you enjoy reading it.
Andrew Hemmert holding his book, No Longer at This Address. Backgrounded is a tree and a wooden fence with some blue wire decorations.
October 24, 2025 at 4:26 AM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
Final copies are here, and they're stunning. Alex Wolfe did an excellent job with the design. If I owe you a book, it'll be on its way shortly. And for the rest of y'all, the book comes out from @upittpress.bsky.social on October 21. I can't wait to share No Longer at This Address with you.
12 copies of No Longer at This Address in a partially opened cardboard mailer.
September 7, 2025 at 3:35 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
We're a little less than three months away from No Longer at This Address's pub date! So I'm sharing this lovely third blurb, from Corey Van Landingham. Pre-order link as always is in the comments! I am more than a little excited to share this book with y'all.
Hemmert’s No Longer at This Address guides us through the high fire danger of the Anthropocene. His coruscating similes—the ocean ‘rears up like an impossible stallion,’ ‘the laws of America / pass through me like ozone’—unveil his curiosity and wonder. It’s deeply refreshing to encounter poems that invite both dread and delight. This book is disastrously good. Corey Van Landingham, author of Reader, I
August 1, 2025 at 3:59 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
No Longer at This Address is dropping too late to be part of the 2025 Sealey Challenge. But if you're filling out your list, I've got copies of Blessing the Exoskeleton and would love to mail you a signed one! I'm out of Sawgrass Sky, but you can get a copy from Texas Review Press. Happy reading!
Front cover of Blessing the Exoskeleton by Andrew Hemmert. Three crawfish prints in slightly different variations of red on a matte cream background.
July 23, 2025 at 3:24 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
Incredibly I have six sonnets in the new issue of The Missouri Review. I've included two of them here. Thanks as always to the editors for including my work! These ones are full of space and Florida and vanishing, so a good summation of my obsessions.
Front cover of the new issue of Missouri Review. A person with long hair in a bun and a missing torso looks down on a grey city scape that they tower over. Sagittarius A* In the pool a dead June bug floated towards me and I ducked beneath it. Underwater I watched it turn in the current how a star would watch a lost astronaut tumbling along in the vacuum of space. I find the term vacuum unfair to space. It contains after all most of everything. We're the noisy exception—our colliding satellites, our deep space probes and gold records proving to ourselves we will outlast ourselves, if only in the vacuum. What's gold to a universe full of gold? What's a lonely record to a universe of collapsing stars? Last time I listened to “Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground,” I felt the song hurtling further away from Johnson’s burned house, hurtling further away from Jesus's name, from the holes in God’s hands, those two voids. I sank into that voice like water. Of Those Hidden Stars, Minimalist Zodiac, Tell Me In Florida the night cactus is preparing to bloom, and I'm cooking breakfast wondering what new flowers have emerged yellow along my fence line—lighthouses someone built while I was sleeping. The night cactus blooms only once a year. It looks like a sky temporarily absolved of light pollution. Will we stubbornly cling to the old constellations, or invent new ones reflective of those hidden stars? Minimalist zodiac, tell me how in these days anyone can without despair remain open to the world. Tell me how to look for constellations without wondering which shape will be the first to lose its attendant animal. I am dicing tomatoes and cracking eggs. I am sleeping through extinctions. The night cactus, in brutal heat, readies its zodiac of blooms.
July 21, 2025 at 10:50 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
We're a little less than four months out from No Longer at This Address's pub date, so I'm going to share another blurb. Blurb number 2 is from @chelsdingman.bsky.social! As always you can find the pre-order link in my bio, if you feel so inclined. Can't wait to share this book with y'all!
Through astonishing poems both contemplative and energetic, Hemmert expertly addresses temporality, subjectivity, and situatedness as if what exists in the past may be addressless—without the possibility of being spoken to and without a physical location—and the addresses that matter these landscapes of light and dark, of “brief and terminal returns,” of a visible world as it is vanishing, only a poem makes possible. Chelsea Dingman, author of I, Divided
July 1, 2025 at 12:37 AM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
We've got arcs! And the cover by Alex Wolfe looks even better in person. If you're interested in reviewing the book, please contact Lesley Rains at lrains@upress.pitt.edu to request an arc. And pre-orders as always are live at the link on my website! @upittpress.bsky.social
Advanced reader copy of No Longer at This Address. Front cover. A red to green to blue color gradient, shrubs and trees giving way to mountains. A satellite dish sits on the far left mountain. Foregrounded is a saber tooth tiger skull in a scratchy glass box. Back cover of advanced reader copy of No Longer at This Address.
June 9, 2025 at 10:10 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
In advance of the book's pub date in late October, I'm going to periodically share the blurbs I've received for No Longer at This Address. First up is this wonderfully generous blurb from Michael McGriff. Pre-order link in bio!
The wonderment in an Andrew Hemmert poem spreads far beyond topic or meditation, far beyond moment, era, or epoch, beyond—even—the gravity of our home planet. The joy here is that the poet fixes his lens on everyday experience and chases meaning wherever it takes him, wherever it might be found. From the microscopic to the astral, No Longer at this Address is twinned with a kind, ravishing loneliness and humane beatitude reserved for those artmakers who travel as deeply within as they do from one sentence to the next. A true delight. Michael McGriff, author of Inquest and Angel Sharpening its Beak
June 3, 2025 at 5:19 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
I wrote three sonnets featuring my neighbor's twelve-foot skeletons, which improved my quality of life immensely. I'm pleased to say that the last one of these sonnets is included in the new issue of @Post Road Magazine. Godspeed to those giant absurd skeletons, wherever they may be.
Front cover of Post Road issue no. 43. Abstract painting featuring greens, yellows, blues, some smeared line work, and some red abstract leaves reaching down from top of painting. Back cover of issue no. 43 of Post Road. Features various author names including Andrew Hemmert. The Neighbors Took Down Their Twelve-Foot Skeletons Today after two years haunting the street. Without their menace something feels missing from the air. July and the June bugs are dying like scarab-shiny plane crashes. I am trying to decide, given the cliffhanger nature of the glaciers, given a heaven of barbed wire and guard dogs, what to make of the giant, inflatable gorilla selling gym equipment in the plaque-heavy heart of the city, what to make of the tent in hundred-degree heat hung with flags saying GO AVALANCHE, DON’T TREAD ON ME, LAST DAYS. I feel it’s wishful thinking, calling these the last days. Almost like trying to rush through the consequences of our actions. Still I smell the smoke of fireworks through my windows. I smell rain, first drops preceding the storm to my doorstep. No skeletons today for the rain to fall through, like death itself was hiding.
May 19, 2025 at 11:55 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
It's a privilege to be back in The Southern Review with two sonnets from book 4. Thanks as always to Jessica Faust for her editorial attention and encouragement. I wrote "Yellow Tanagers" after driving to Canon City to get my first Colorado driver's license. I'm really starting to feel at home here.
The cover of the Spring 2025 issue of The Southern Review. Collage on a white background, includes painted pink rose petals, grayscale chains piled on each other, a gray mountain, also a blueish mirror pattern in the top right corner. On the way to Cañon City I drove through an old burn, trees whose trunks were black with the signature of fire and branches crowded green, survivors crowned with chlorophyl, birds singing. I wasn’t anywhere death could find me. There were rain clouds on the mountains looking down like hermits watching from their cliffs in coats of ash- blue. What was it I once said to you, I am full of wind and rain, et cetera, it hardly makes me special. Lately yellow tanagers in the neighborhood and a grizzled blue heron who fishes the pond full of trash. Lately pain in my jaw so that even speaking seems too much trouble. But I was remembering the first fire we had in the house, your waxed paper cup in the microwave catching and melting to ash, a wild candle you carried to the sink and I drowned with tap water. We would not so easily be defeated.
April 19, 2025 at 2:23 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
I am absolutely thrilled to finally share the cover of No Longer at This Address. Out with University of Pittsburgh Press on Oct 21. Pre-order link is in the comments!
Book cover of No Longer at This Address. A red to green to blue color gradient, shrubs and trees giving way to mountains. A satellite dish sits on the far left mountain. Foregrounded is a saber tooth tiger skill in a scratchy glass box.
April 16, 2025 at 2:59 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
Colorado folks! Next week on Tuesday, I'll be joining The Living Poets Society at Boulder Bookstore to read from and chat about Blessing the Exoskeleton. If you're around, swing on by!
A screenshot of a webpage showing the following text: The Living Poets Society, the BBS poetry book club, will be reading and discussing Blessing the Exoskeleton by Andrew Hemmert in March. Tuesday, March 11th at 5:30pm This book club will meet IN PERSON at the table in the Upper North Room. Poet Andrew Hemmert will join us for this discussion!
March 4, 2025 at 6:45 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
Colorado folks! If you're in Boulder, Boulder Bookstore has copies of Blessing the Exoskeleton on hand! And it's a great bookstore to visit anyway.
Poetry book spines on a bookshelf. In the middle, two copies of Blessing the Exoskeleton by Andrew Hemmert
January 19, 2025 at 2:55 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
Congrats to Amanda Gunn on winning the Jeffrey E. Smith Editors Prize from The Missouri Review! I was honored to be selected as a runner up for this contest, and I'm excited to share that six of my sonnets will be appearing in the prize issue. Can't wait to share these poems with y'all!
A red sunset and a black outline of someone jumping up for joy. A page congratulating the winners of the 2024 Jeffrey E Smith Editors' Prize from Missouri Review; Fiction is Jeffery Brady, Poetry is Amanda Gunn, Nonfiction is Justin Thurman; image encourages folks to go to the website to see runner ups and finalists
January 9, 2025 at 5:20 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
Early birds! We don't have a cover and we don't have a page count. But if you want to place an order for No Longer at This Address via Bookshop, I promise the book will have both a cover and pages when it arrives in October. Pre-order link in comments!
A screenshot of a page on bookshop dot org displaying a coverless book titled No Longer at This Address by Andrew Hemmert
January 8, 2025 at 6:08 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
It seems more things are happening on this website again, so I'm gonna reshare the news that @upittpress.bsky.social will be publishing my third book, No Longer at This Address, in Fall 2025. I truly cannot wait to share this book with y'all.
Poetry manuscript titled "No Longer at This Address" by Andrew Hemmert. There are floral stamps on this top right corner, and a polished ammonite fossil on the bottom left corner.
November 12, 2024 at 7:29 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
New sonnet up at Redivider! Thanks much to the editors for featuring this poem, which also stems from my time as a liquor store delivery driver. Link to the full issue in comments!
The Liquor Store Delivery Driver Considers Theology By Andrew Hemmert From what I can tell, most of the drivers believe in God, and a god is a good thing to have if driving is your job. At the end of the interview, my soon-to-be boss told me a motorcyclist hit one of our cars going ninety in a forty-five. Died instantly. Our driver survived but couldn’t shake it. The EMTs held the helmet like a bowl so the motorcyclist’s head wouldn’t fall out. When I drove I was almost hit dozens of times. In Denver no one stops for red lights, not immediately, and otherwise they’re drifting out of their lanes, distracted by the mountains, or distracted by wildfire smoke where the mountains used to be. Are mountains or smoke a more apt metaphor for God—that which conceals or is concealed? Both take your breath away, both lift on high. Both are the world climbing away from itself.
November 2, 2023 at 2:11 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
I'm so thrilled to have two sonnets in the new issue of The Account! Both are about the year I spent working at a local liquor store as a delivery driver. It was a bizarre job, but I ended up enjoying it. Thanks to the editors for including this pair!

theaccountmagazine.com/article/hemm...
:: The Liquor Store Delivery Driver Considers Ornithology :: A swift flies like a bat made of straight razors. In summer I watch them sweep and curve through the mazes of moving cars, chasing the proliferating insects—mosquitos and caddis, black flies whose guts rorschach my windshield in yellows and greens and always the swifts behind them, like hunger given weight and weightlessness, like hunger given speed. The way they fly, it seems they do not remember the ground is there. And nothing makes me feel grounded like watching them. Watching them, I might as well be a cattail by a retention pond or a shopping cart sunk in that retention pond, or a pond full only of oily overflow and no red fish darting through reeds. When a swift doubles back its belly feathers shine like surgery. I am driving my car full of liquor into the city, under the swifts’ oblivion joy.
October 31, 2023 at 3:12 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
For audio book fans: Sawgrass Sky is now available on Audible! My sincere thanks to Texas Review Press for continuing to support the book and making it more accessible. Link in comments!
Cover of Sawgrass Sky audio book, narrated by Rick Keller
October 11, 2023 at 2:00 AM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
This is special for a few reasons. First, Copper Nickel is one of my favorite journals, and I've been submitting there for a long time. Second, this piece is the current title poem of my third book. And third, this is my first Denver mag! I'm so thrilled to share this with y'all.
I put two letters back in the mailbox— one soliciting money for some Christian Appalachian mission, the other advertising a three-by-five American flag in exchange for a donation to whatever cause I won't look into the envelope to discover. Both are addressed to the woman who used to live here. It's illegal I think, opening mail if it's not addressed to you, but I don't know exactly how illegal, whether it measures up to theft or sits somewhere in the realm of loitering or driving with expired tags. The woman who used to live here had three dogs. They're three of the main reasons my backyard is so ravaged—spare grass, mud cracking in that classic dried lakebed desert pattern. The property is littered with toys, tennis balls, an archeological site of rubber bones. I can picture the dogs running back and forth from fence to fence, ripping up flowers and weeds, sending crickets flying. In the face of destruction it's useful to keep a running list of the good in things. Today's endorphins for example were provided by three rabbits playing tag behind my house in the falling snow while I was doing the dishes. They paused to eat the few weeds protruding from the growing drifts, then pounced on each other, jumping high and kicking and probably needing that joy to stay warm. Mostly to me it looked more cold than fun, and that's partially how I can tell I've been exiled from the country of childhood for good. But it's not so bad here in the country of the rest of my life. Just look at all these coupons, these offers. Someone is always trying to reach me. Cover of the new issue of Copper Nickel. Mosaic style painting of a face and someone reclining.
October 8, 2023 at 3:03 AM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
I'm excited to have two new sonnets from book 4 up on The Commuter today! One's a self-portrait, and the other proposes cooking as a solution to the problem of death. Second poem at link in comments.
So Long, Oblivion Like a dollar I am depreciating all the time. Like a lighthouse throwing the net of my pretend moon on the predator shoreline. Like an invasive boar I have been known to root and roll in rain and dirt and roam. Like the earth sometimes in love with turning away from all light though never really leaving. Like a beach I have wanted to spend years softening though not always wanting the footprints which to ghost crabs are craters. Like a paleontologist resisting always the impulse to ransack my skeletons for drumsticks, though here is the gong, here is the timpani like a bird bath full of absinthe before me. So so long oblivion with your small dreams of silence. I am going to the bank of myself with my pockets hanging out like two ruined countries, like two broken and gorgeous wings.
October 4, 2023 at 3:08 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
I'm in Florida in spirit every day, but today more than other days.

www.versedaily.org/2021/jimmybu...
Jimmy Buffett I know what people say. He's tacky, bad. The musical equivalent of lime-a-rita in a light-up souvenir cup. He brings to mind American tourists trudging drunk over foreign shores with the shores of their shoulders fried with freckles, the smell of a roach extinguished in an overwatered potted plant. But when I hear his songs, I think instead of how my father got home from work just as my mother was putting my brother and me to bed. He waited outside the bedroom door (continued at link)
September 2, 2023 at 5:49 PM
andrewhemmert.bsky.social
Hey y'all! Gotta post something to kick this app off, so here's my at-present title poem from Book 4. You can also listen to me read it here: newohioreview.org/2023/05/23/l.... Looking forward to connecting with the poetry community here!
Love is a Kingdom of Obsidian by Andrew Hemmert So now my neighbor’s twelve-foot skeletons are all-season haunts, this February morning holding huge pink balloon hearts and grimacing against the freezing fog. I like them this way, memento mori-ing my Tuesday commute, though who really needs to be reminded of their own death these days? In the shed we found a mouse corpse hollowed out by weather and time. The body otherwise left intact— a kingdom of obsidian abandoned in a jungle. Love, I think, is a kingdom of obsidian I have thus far refused to abandon to death’s jungle, though there of course is time for everything to go wrong, or more wrong, or wrong enough. Ice on the road, another driver running the red, the sky a white sheet over my body. Until then the skeleton in me is offering you its balloon heart.
August 22, 2023 at 8:25 PM