From Protos, to Eschatos, the human-snake bites its tail to find the antidote for its head

the will to grow
stirs the seed, skull
vibrates at the crawl
of inching roots
churn inside the vessel,
a whisper
scratches at the window
dry leaves
rustle on the moonlit patio,
birth

sink into the earth-blood,
breathe in milky life force
exhale the want to breed
little stem,
balance the elemental humors,
close vitreous petals, bulb
in the cosmic swoon
of individual
becoming

healthy, green
dappled in sunlit patches
filtered through breaking clouds, idea
manifested in the buzz of bees
kicking insect feet, and
humming brains automated search
for our stem,
stiletto topped with bulbous node
gleaning self design
split open
to reveal a floral intricacy
bobbing with the tug of gravity
weighted by plump, and
thirsty thought
perfumes, seducing the machines
“Pollinate
my neighbouring earth
with my song of self
that in my passing form
a story may be told,
that in going room to room
I’m downloaded there as well.”

the kicking bees
programmed to reproductive frenzy
take of me
each day, as I’m alive
to let them
come and go, though never into the rooms
of my thought-apartments
where I’ve organized, and
dreamt myself into various existence
still rooted, however
to live that I may die, to
be fed upon by my bacteria
encouraging decomposition, and therein
to be no more

overshadowed by the heavy boots of time,
the towering dead
robotic in their march
with slogans
glistening wet upon their lips
Hallelujah, let the war drums
beat triumphant, beat
the mountains beneath our feet
blind before death, eye
wide with fear
pupil constricts to a
smaller point of black against
blank iris, dry
crusts the lid open as
significance comes too late
for, no longer have we
in this moment
the strength
to uproot our withered husks
from the device
we’ve spent a lifetime
to inflate.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

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The Calculation of Self-Attenuation

waking up
returning to cognizance
staged through phases
floating
surface bound, from
the depths of slumber

time of day
as of yet: unknown
eyelids open to
take in
external reference data, i.e.
light level,
muscular reflex, alertness,
compared against last known
data check
shit, it must be three a.m.

“And all of this happens
in a matter of seconds,
and I am a bright bulb
that I have invented.”

already ambling
down hallway, corridor,
trying to find
myself
feet swung in tandem
off bedside to floor, toes curl
at the touch, or are they steadying
to press against gravity?

filament blew
at electrical surge from
light switch
motor function misfires: attempting
ninety degree turn in near-zero
visibility conditions,
shoulder: likely bruised
from bathroom door jam
I guess I won’t be checking my
stubble this morning

back to hallway, to kitchen,
find a clock appliance
as the alien glow
of digital screens blear dimly
against the antibacterial white
electronic hum
it’s not quite two forty-five, yet

dry mouth
peels open to taste
dead air, hot breath,
tongue
moves as mind recalls
surface memory: water,
deepens to clear blue
rehydration
a fridge door and a plastic bottle top
away

one foot moves in front
as the other adjusts in turn
to keep balance, or
am I not a consciousness,
aware, and thus
animating
this fleshy sponge
containment vessel of my
person?
head tilts back, jaw up, as
water trickles down throat
eyes close
imbibe refreshment
what is a third-eye stairwell
to enlightenment, really?

the imagination of self,
swathed in golden opulence,
burning
in the dark eddies of
bleak
here and now
eyes open
fuck,
power out
I’ll have to check the breaker
in the
basement

“You’ll look back and know that
I shine for your sight,
as I see your smile
a billion miles into the night.”

…yet, I descend.

Addendum by the Author:

feng shui
ˈfəNG ˈSHwē,-SHwā/
noun
(in Chinese thought) a system of laws considered to govern spatial
arrangement and orientation in relation to the flow of energy.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

The Minotaur

pineal
blooms a stem
thorn
from mid-brain, eye
vessel: a bulb
tethered to root
growing wispy
long, to scratch
the cloud strata
a singlet drop
ripples on the surface
circular waves
expand against
precipitation
burning a blue hole
in the sky
pillar of light
struck
from cosmos to terra
cast along
the stem tether
birthing leafy outlets
drinking in the particulate
dust of aeons
growing undirected
manifest labyrinth
vines, pulsing with lifeblood
to arouse
the indomitable beast
in us all.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

Unison

in an attempt to tie up loose threads
after my lover had set herself to drift
on the cradling currents
of a slow inviting dream
I found myself at desk
tracing parchment kisses to her forehead
singing lullaby and morning back to me

I love
that you allow me
to treat you like a princess,
though not so delicately
as to encourage
a patronizing compromise

that I can be firm
feet planted, and you
stubborn
together, locked in mutual struggle
helically,
inclined to burn brightly
for you and I, for each other

that all forgotten passages
are there; relit
or burned to their foundation’s
until nothing stands
that we had not built together

hands clasped, at arm’s length
heels close together, we spin
dependant on gravity to generate rotation,
glowing brilliantly, and
steadily more luminescent
a spark
set against the vacuum
of impossible night.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.