is The Snake eating, or vomiting its tail

the road to a true philosophy of life
seems to lie in humbly recording
diverse readings of its phenomena.
~ Thomas Hardy


i can hear the sound
of keys jingling on rings
in the hallway
nearest the door
from outside
as i am alone

jingling like so many
maintenance keys
not like coins in hands
pocket change for
turning over, being counted

in apartment One, i
have a washing machine
for a headboard
mine and it being that close
and the pipes creak
and the floorboards weal and ache
up the stairs!
up the stairs
stomp hurried feet

the screams i hear outside
the window
remind One of partiers, or seagulls
gnashing honks
a cavalcade of feast
a vibration
of jumpers

hurtling energy upon, what


this is my body
pitiable mound
groaning down hallway morning
stiff joint stretch yawn
with comedic hair

this is me
a lump of meat brain
salty asshole
wet intestine
tube shit
atomic man
star man made of comets
matter colliding in space

man of mineral,
of DNA shared with
and animal

man of

target of galactic dictatorship
man of future supercity engines


in the bathroom
sitting on my castle,
staring footward at a candle
lit, and placed
in clay jar,
that was then
on a serving plate

a modern eclectic printing
of an english cottage, ducks,
or horse-drawn tractors

dressed with the skin of a banana
turned black
a bay leaf saved from
kitchen cooking
One or more gracious sacrifices

the room was dark
I, at castle
remarking a most unusual flame

a grayish spark, split
on blue and almond glass

waft of quack and twaddle

yawp! the star-spangled cock
and the firmament diagnosed insecure
a millennium of forgotten godhead vibrations
in drainage soup inseparable potatoes

i watched as god became a
amalgam of insular collective wreckage

an identical and individual


i lay and i rise
in the coffins late at night
i lay
and rise

to talk and cry
in the gutters day and night
i walk and lie


shoes on
up and at ’em out the door
where the money’s spent
boogaloo, love ya’ too everyday is
monday morning

One more snooze button swim
blanket mental challenge test
ultimate surrender
salute to robot manufacture department


soylent opportunity for advancement
minimum pay rise
One rung
the ladder to better quality cunt


i pay and bribe
at the tollbooths late at night
pray and bribe

i piss and moan
in the drunk tank confessional,
you ‘aint seen hardship like i seen, piss
and moan

in multitudes the people gather
bitch, and wail

One protest for peace
for fair government
for sexism in wages
for racism as a political strategy
for redistribution of wealth

grandpa war-bucks & co. to control advertising

a witch hunt for
racist malcontent public figures
to legally replace free speech
partisan talk show host: conspiracy
to manipulate public opinion

suggestion is nipple clamps
in a leather bondage thong bikini
addicted to deviant sex
or anti-christian appetite disorder
the old revolutionary has to go
we can’t have
pre now-generation types

melancholy of a gray-er decade
of death

we are the immortal beautiful
the impossibly reckless

the prisoner trying to escape

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.



i will make considerations
for beauty
and concessions
for love
i will
be soft as nipple flesh
pre-metamorphosed grub
wriggling in pink meat
in the earth womb lullaby song
let me start again
before jaded
eyes opened
irreversibly mutated by
rock music crybaby sad
raindrop gray tears for
valentine heart dust
fire and xmas wish
as with father mother
presents beneath tree
fantasy magic destroyed along with
the following moon
tooth fairy
all boogey men
all a fiction
that broke my then
unalterable spirit now
may never be the Me that once was
can believe in goodness

though goodness without god-perverted
kingdoms in extra-physical illusion space
actual good
that exists in mortal hearts
a spiritual actual
more than faith
is that too much?
should i settle for attainable
reality material?

why not dream float on
tidal pool hopeless desire frivolous
-enchantments of skin held in warm
embrace under red morning curtains
of ecstasy in lovers arms
staring intently tickling out the
blood throb passionate kissing
for no reason
but to smile away insecurity?

i can
be in love with something
to breathe form into life

start again

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

Revenue Canada Credit Scam

am writing this unedited
noon today
phonecall received
automated message
female robot voice “blah,
blah, blah. something about
how I supposedly am being
prosecuted for not filing
tax return. Jennifer Gomez.”
I *69’d the number was
1 613 656 6313
I said
bitch hung up on me
I called back
“this is Emerys Watchel? 1306 *** ****?
yes, you have caller ID. I’m not impressed.
she cried wolf
“I am sending the RCMP to
arrest you”
what’s my crime? I asked
“for not filing your taxes!”
how much money do you scam out of people?
hung up again
I called back
“hello this is Rev. Canada
how may I help you?”
please don’t hang up on me. I’m
just trying to understand.
“understand what?”
how did you get my number?
“fuck you, you motherfucker!”
hung up again
does your dick even work, or
do you need pills to getoff?
how do you have an Ottawa area code?
you’re going to hang up on me again,
aren’t you?
you’ve never had a Canadian ass whooping, have you?
“fuck you mother bitch!”
awe, c’mon man. I’m the most interesting
call you’ve had today.
“curses at me in foreign language”
hangs up.

I called Revenue Canada’s toll free number
“they are using the internet.”
he kindly told me.
even tax agents have had these

last year
a Paul Ivory
1 844 337 8111
(now disconnected)
told me that I have a warrant out
for my arrest
I dialed the local courthouse
and asked if I have a pending
court appearance
they said

I encourage all of you
to phone and harass these
scam artists
the number is: 1 613 656 6313

I feel sorry for the hard working Canadians,
the trusting good hearted people
the elderly that have been bilked of their savings
by these spineless overseas foreigners

if I could put foot to ass in person
I would.

“Fuck me? Fuck me? You motherfucker! Fuck my mother,
that’s what you fuckin’ tell me? huh,
you motherfucker, you!
~ Tommy DeVito, Goodfellas

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.


el Presidente has
an unfortunate asshole
for a mouth
and when He speaks
His words fall on floor
shit on my shoe
accompanied by so many flies
the thought-deaf non-creative
political underlings
that speak through Him
buzz whispers
of His greatness
vomiting stomach contents
to drink
with insipid proboscis faces
in an orgy of faith
the stuff of ecclesiastical
polluting the airwaves
with their messages
perpetuated through copulation
with Media Wives
the eggs they lay, hatch
in my ear canal
and i grow
dumb in the cyclone
of their paper wings

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

,and the Horse you rode in on

on the internet
staring at the adverts
ing at the shiny happy fake plastic
smiling fuck
the All on its knees I
want to put cock to World Mouth
choke throat
I want to shame GOVT’s with poetry
surrender to the Truth
it’s all a mess
that was The Gift
The Goal, and The Reason
for Art
it’s Platonian
I’m a Neo Hate Monger
w/a hard-on for mind rape
who do I?
what do I?
How do I
give a shit about…
does any of this seem right (?)
recent increase of Agnosticism supports
Humanity’s secret wish for the
End Of The World
in Martyrdom be Vindicated!

’til then:
steal my credit card info
hack the interwebs
come on lips mouth ass pussy
Racism the New fashion clique
teach children that Sex is
Penis/ Vagina pederast fetish
in public schoolgirl Hello Kitty panties

Sugar is toxic
Sugar is killing us
mid 80’s: fatty liver disease
unheard of in child cases
can’t buy fruit juice at Supermarket
w/o poisoning my liver with Fructose
the FDA in cahoots w/ Terrorist Org.
targeting our consumer dependency
and we are encouraged to trust
to Obey blindly
sheeple led to
laughing gas television deathchamber
commercial-jingle brainwash

United Fruit Company formed in 1899
to control vast territories and
transportation networks in Central America
Exploitative Neocolonialism!
the archetypal example
of the influence of a multinational corporation!
Merged with AMK in 1970 to become
United Brands- transformed again in 1984
to present-day Chiquita Brands International
who exactly,
decides my daily dietary requirement?
if I ache
if I’m “depressed”
if I exhibit antisocial paranoia
if I anything…
the Doctor gives me
drug dependency miracle cure tablets
flesh raped and I am

if there is a cure
what is the cure?
more symptom treatment
you pain?
here killpain pill
you sick, sad, can’t get erection?
here pill, you welcome
but grass green mower fresh-cut
smile white detergent in toothpaste
lawn sprinkler afternoon 4th of July
booze always affordable
J. Hoover FBI loved his Scotch
but made useless war on Drugs America
$Billions spent fighting Columbian Cocaine
burn them Coca fields down!
Columbian Farmers then in debt w/ Cartels
same happened in Afghanistan Poppy fields
Farmers there live now in fear of Taliban
why are your politicians so afraid
of seeming weak on drug crime?
so afraid
Need to get votes
perpetuate useless Drug War? Why?
it don’t work
Ten States set to decriminalize before
R. Reagan Just Say No campaign
don’t no one know their History?

pacify ’em with Pornography
Hooters Bars to confuse Feminism
wouldn’t Eleanor Roosevelt be proud?
all Her hard lobbying
for Breast Implant America

this is all silly
take me not seriously
ignore what is infront of you
ignore mad men like Me

Sleep well in your beds
Prescription Generation

protracted death
in Concentration Camp Nation

no freedom

Post Script:



A person who loves, supports, and defends his
or her country and its interests
against presumed interference by
the Federal Government.

Fuck You Holy-Holy godlove!
Fuck You Christian Propaganda Cults!
Fuck You Military Industrial Complex!
Fuck You Political Doublespeak!
Fuck You Consumer Nation Ideogog!
Fuck You Organic Food Trend
scientists that genetically altered cacti
creating Dragon Fruit in early 2000’s

the Well-Adjusteds don’t ask these questions
and fuck Them too!
Hell in a Handbasket, let’s go

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

Dystopia, after The Hundred-years Party

went for a walk
in planet surface dust
rubber faux-leather boot pants
jacket hood mouth covered
Seuss-ian trees gnarled root tendrils
silhouette against burning sky

i alone dressed for space weather fear
the other alien hominids
slathered in lotion rubbed noses
blistering heat cooled
hiding in lawn sprinkler fantasy
radiation washed faces

made my way down millennial ant hill
to the shadow side valley and
night lit yellow lantern box houses
searching for a milk vendor
ulcer cure, or opiate apothecary among
the stunted raisin-head martian people

dreadfully slow this moving in armour
while the shrivelled ones flit about
and stare with their eyes
“isn’t it hot today? and, oh the humidity!”
one said as though commenting on my
overdressed style

“milk please”
i returned from deep beneath muffler
ignoring its attempt to talk about weather
with purchase in plastic bag hand, i slogged
uphill to dome-icile complex
and fly-faced smoker’s cough neighbours

to my own little
mouse ball hamster wheel apartment
undressed into cold shower bath
How terrible, i thought, such unprepared
madness. gasoline, N2O-t.v, booze-music radio,
community is dead, and ignorance is bliss

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.

The Mirror and The Spectre

minutes ago
found energy self
in darkmirror reflection midnight
mind focus session

I lugged that picture mirror
from dead home bereft of
old hermit Grandma’s
hundred old stories
about her cats, about
how her house was built
in 1912
how Blackie lost an eye
chasing heroic wild-eyed
females in heat
to his then dusty porch retirement

3×4 feet it measures
and five and a half when standing
on its supports
once belonging to a forgotten vanity
perhaps recollected in some scrap-book,
somewhere covered with picture frames
perfume atomizers crystal ashtray
ladies hairbrush, chair
where she sat
removing curlers sighing over Ed
with a head shake
to his aged deformity
WW2 memories turned grief-stricken
demons to haunt a love-addled pain

in shadow
these fingers, long
nimble daggers
meant for the typing of keys

these eyes
dim in daylight blind
meant for seeing beyond what is
visible to the heart-meat beneath

this body.
wracked in the tug, and toil
of scraping bruised
under gravity’s infinite weight
merely a conveyance for the mind

indian legs crossed
on carpeted bedroom removed of bed
floor littered with laundry socks
a side table now lampstand
various paraphernalia unused condoms
the panties lover left me
mirror propped against wall
I, before I
dark room peering into dark room
watching for shape to coalesce
the mass of worms push up
head mound shoulders
one eye opens, become

car pulls in to parking lot
headlights circle the room
I stare at I
watching self transform

remembering the Halloween invocation
in Grandma’s basement
candle lit at the stroke of twelve
chanting to any and all beings
gathered here tonight
empty vessel asking to be filled
half man half demon
then blew the candle out
fumbled through basement dark
to stairs
and up
into kitchen
turn towards diningroom
emptied for painting
but the mirror stood alone
my back to it
turn slowly, I
and see in there a shadow
standing just behind
fear, wonder
from then on I knew I had to keep
this damned thing with me

© Emerys Watchel, 2016 All rights reserved.