Reality, and other Falsehoods

I have stood
arms outstretched
palms open,
offering my secrets
to everyone
and none

to urchins
and charlatan faith healers
to street magician doctors
and on

I have seen psychiatrists
pull demons
out of preachers

I have seen snakes
claim their venom
is gold

I have seen ants
bring dead soldiers
back to monarchs

I have seen horses
carry heroes
back home

I have stood
on the doorstep
of believing
watching empires
that never existed
live on

I have seen madmen
paint sanity
out of reason

I have seen
with hearts
for loved ones

I have seen
the righteous
and the wicked
all between them

but, I have
never seen
an honest man

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.


Monkeys Were Never Meant to Run the Zoo

alien conspiracy files
television program,
when I realize, now
see if you can follow
this logic:
that either one of two
things is true, they’re real
or, they’re not
if they are, we assume
The GOV’T. wouldn’t release
that information, if it were
true we’d never hear about it
unless they know we’d
never believe the truth
anyway, the religious group
steadfastly believes that God
will save us, and that the
world outside
is a crazy nonsense, and
the alien conspiracy believers
think the religious a bunch
of closeted nutters, waiting
for their mystical nothing
while the atheists
and nihilists think everyone
is stupid, there’s no answer
so, let’s assume that
aliens are real,
Christians believe in Demons
so that they can
drink the blood of Christ
and eat his flesh to invoke
their God to martyr them,
the atheists shake their heads
at higher powers, and I
for one, am skeptical
of any deity, or cosmic energy,
being, or what have you, that
would deign to try
manifesting a plausible notion,
I’ve been considering researching
Scientology, Roddenberry and Hubbard
had once worked together on
Science Fact, I guess we have
Star Trek and Tom Cruise to thank
for that division, fuck it,
I’ll just watch Wheel of Fortune,
Pat Sajak is consistently disappointing,
Vanna White is looking more robotic everyday,
and all these commercials
tell me to make more money,
to afford new things, to
make more money, maybe
an alien
invasion wouldn’t be so bad
after all,
monkeys were never meant
to run
the zoo.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

As I Chew Inside the Vessel

morning motions
wake up to trip over
laundry pile, bedroom floor,
nothing hurts more than
stepping on belt-buckle
in bare feet down the hall
to coffeepot, auto timer, notepad
blank page,
fingers hover over keystroke,
hesitation, I
don’t find myself fascinating
anymore, used to, rather, but
I have written
all my monsters out,
described my many failings,
damned each time I forced
this wreck to port, or
shelter out the bloody storm
that I had hid instead of
letting my hands release the wheel,
winds lift me,
fill my sail, lead me
by whichever whim, or will
the fates allow-
crack knuckles, coffee cream
scoop sugar, second cup,
to pluck the next big, complicated design
from the universe, is
what I truly want
to pull it down,
turn it over in my hands,
to break it open and
describe the bits and pieces I
find rattling inside,
then moving on
to the next something
that isn’t me, to feed
newborn creations into
the clockwork maw of
my analytical device,
I swear this isn’t poetry, trying desperately
to look away from Yeats’ old man
walking horse up snowy hill to
look upon
green and younger days,
in Ferlinghetti’s Pennycandystore,
consumed by the towering Moloch
of Ginsbergian metro-consumer zoo,
where am I going, or
do I need a destination? Déjà-vous,
laying on folded futon mattress,
living room floor, long distance wet kisses
with North Carolina sweetheart,
phone calls and silence, I begin
to believe that I am breathing
myself into being,
rudderless vessel on the
open seas and high turbulence of
my fiction, now,

 © Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

Planar Non-existence

thought bubbles spherical
pockets of chaos incomplete
holes cluster in random collective
dissolving or being absorbed into
complexity or nothing
as dark whorls in the river
of memory

first weekend of September, 2015
it is the middle of the night and
I am experiencing a dizzying concoction
of sleep deprivation
mixed with non-prescription
gate keys

several minutes ago:
powered down every electronic
appliance. uncertain if the ringing
in my ears is tinnitus, or
robotic, super-future drones
inspecting individual larvae capsules
for irregularities. vibrating
a machined gibberish data-collection language
from a parallel matrix on the other side
of the wall-jack

moments ago:
attempting to strengthen inner-focus
through meditative harmony
concentrating on the immediate now.
sat on bedroom floor of
chicken-coop apartment inches away from,
and staring, wide-eyed, into the dark room
on the other side of a mirror
beginning to feel self dissolve

convinced that I am not actually here.
that I am a projection of self-conception
plugged cerebrally into an inconceivable device
that feeds me stimulus information based
on illusory activity. decided instead
that magic is real, and
that I’ve dreamt myself into being

frightened at the implication that
I am singularly responsible for
maintaining optimal embodiment, despite
the growing counterintuition
self-manifestation in reverse:
to imagine self beyond the fringe
of reality
thus entering planar non-existence

now, swimming backwards through the fear
wandering the halls of inner-dungeons
seeking the ultimate unanswerable question
in the ever-closing spatial void
between the cogwheels of time

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

When Crane asked about the carcass, Crow, with a beak-full of flesh, said:

without fear,
the blood will only
dull in refuge, it was never
about dragon’s fire, burning
all the realms of fantasy in a riotous
tummult of panic and politics, with which
they flood the streets, or gather up their
waterbearers to dance the
heavens down, or call
the clerics, call
the wizards
to smite
ancient evil
the sky

Crane turned from Crow,
and replied, what of the cold
mountains that shape the wind
to bring you to your feast,
would they not look upon
your valley
in disgust?

Why should they,
rejoined Crow,
it is within their stones and fissures
that my quarry breeds in number against
the elements.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.

Those Who Hunt Ghosts

headaches now,
allergies, I don’t remember
being susceptible
though I’m reading all the time
so, I spend less time outdoors
than I used to
lowered resistances, maybe (?), yet
there’s my astigmatism, and I don’t use
reading glasses
I can feel my pulse
at my temples, rubbing
index, middle-finger circles, throbbing
my body feels warm all the time
I’m thirty-three, six-foot, four
210 lbs.
my memory seems shorter, or
is it that I reorganize my thoughts
not certain
my recollection: an arrangement
of events, differently from others
perception, but is it so simple
aren’t there mysteries
still being uncovered (?)
discoveries of long dead life
a new beetle unearthed
in some rainforest, or
emerging from deep-sea silt
coelacanth species obliterated
during the cretaceous extinction event
some sixty-six million years ago, caught
on 18 October, 1974
Pluto is no longer a moon, the
Bermuda triangle sees no more disappearances per year
than the rest of the world, famous
big-foot photograph privately admitted to be
a hoax in 1963, was actually WA native, Bob Heironimus in a suit,
Gerald Ford supported Nazi Germany,
Hoover kidnapped the Lindbergh baby,
America was built by the Mafia,
The Universe is full of galaxies,
science has finally destroyed God
flying metal cylinders crowd the sky, full
of human passengers,
Da Vinci invented the Wright brothers, invented
computer microchip navigation systems,
satellites, Galileo to Armstrong,  the impossible is now (!)
Moscow, May 24, 1994,  Doctors
are blaming a rare electrical imbalance
in the brain for the bizarre death
of a chess player whose head literally exploded
in the middle of a championship game.
hyper-cerebral electrosis, HCE
every generation believes
that everything has been learned,
discovered, that there are no more
One generation’s science kills the last
generation’s God, the new religion
has always been
to rewrite how we got here, to grow
fat on the minerals of ancestors
and seed our offspring in the excreta
there are prescription drugs for everything,
and everything is extra-strength
paranoia is the new self-defense mechanism,
ignorance is bliss
phobias for everyone (!)
televising the search for supernatural
entities will successfully encourage the consumer class
to question the credibility of
the biblical hereafter,
to pedestrians, demons are ghosts,
if ghosts aren’t real, then neither can
angels, or heaven, be
if so, then too, social formula
tested, proven
there’s so much wrong with everything
Hollywood will blame their inability
to scare us on desensitization
my faith will be restored when
is reborn, gods don’t take Malkovich from us, I
will build golden idols of Kubrick
and pray
to whichever neo-dogma, or universal energy
for his reincarnation,
another goose to kill us
with its golden egg.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.