sitting on the floor
makes my
ass hurt
elementary gymnasium
smelled like rubber
and sweaty floor
morning assembly march
mister Bannerman’s moustache
thistle grey sage nostril hairs
grown so long
they rest, parted
on his upper lip

i used to think

i used to dream

Melanie? i think her name was
“how ’bout a roll in the hay?”
held my hand, brown hair
Melanie. before cheap perfume, and
easy girls

before condoms
and shower sex
dating, and failing at adult
before all of it
she propositioned me
unconquerable ego actually regrets
what i
respectfully refused, ignorant
of her intended meaning

an idiot, now enlightened

reliving past events
with each wave
newly acquired

ass needs no sympathy.

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


Crimes Against Women

Mary, wife to Joseph,
virgin mother of Jesus,
her son, born from God by
supernatural conception
sadly, she
can not truly know
the beautiful pangs of
with her
precious miracle

the poor, virgin goddess
lives instead; immortal,
an ethos among
the pantheon of Gods

though never worshipped
for she is a sexless icon, an
androgynous Mother symbol.
pathway through prayer

the womb of mortal life
removed of her sexual function
cursed, emotionless
inanimate, bloodless organs
incapable of exposure
to external curiosities


© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

Hole To Fuck

Just woke up
so i’m all
sleepy-eyed, and
it’s the middle
of the night
to escape
like when it’s one a.m. here on
and i’m in
Outer Space:

well i know,
i know,
my smile again

as i orbit
and shine
your day begins.
it’s all because i will stay for
the way that you
way that you
pull me in

Light blooms
gold hues
on the backs of things
its all right
warm through
let the honey in

no pain,
no pain,
no tears or rain
and no sad afternoon tea-green
no reptile scales or kisses
sour as you are
fresh, and powder
soft all

in blue
the night descends
while angels
dance and turn
on the heads of pins
i run,
i run,
oh, let me in
to the warm shelter of your arms

if you’ll keep me stuck, and
make me stay
hold me with your
drown me in your
wicked skin

your lips
wet with
dry fingertips

tongue curls
to taste
the scent of this

as you elongate your shape
to devour

dislocate so your teeth can
crushing, snapping, breathe-

love you
as you
make me

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


She knows.
She takes one look
at me,
and she knows. I don’t
have to
tell her

London, 1884
“hey, have you heard?
some pissed-off John’s
cuttin’ up
all them
South end girls, you know?
maybe they was
dirty, right? they ‘aint exactly
classy broads, you know. though,
they say even the prince
has syphilis, so who knows
who’s fuckin’ whatever, right?
look, they got it all
right here in the papers. some
kinda’ resurrected Lucifer
nonsense. I don’t know,
it’s got the stink
of the bible on it,
you know? No man
coulda’ done that

“it’s like I always tell ya’,
you know, it’s all them
star worshippers.”

that I love her with all my

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

Potato head

New Year’s Eve
buddy tells me
he knows
how to prove God exists.
His words verbatim:
“you ever notice, man,
the moon
it always faces towards us?”
<insert platitude,
followed by ‘nod’>
“there has to be some force,
or energy preventing it from
rotating like the
other planets, right?
I had to stop this
madness, I said ”
The Moon doesn’t have enough
mass for gravitational poles.”
-we then
exchanged glances.
His puzzled look
made me think about
my sanity.

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


and ice cream and root beer
not all at once
I was just remembering that thing
about last night
opening umbrellas indoors and
chasing black cats from
salt shakers
as you danced
a little skin in the flourscent
backsplash, kitchen
red wine and chess

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.