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.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s