eil a erasdog lla

___gather to me
___like-minded
___to the exclusion of the& other
-ness
immaculately  described

for a more taxonomical 
______we avoids them then(?
phony outsidercults of

& same -ish
_________letgoism
s we
____who have described uniform
taken to&
_____insular patterns weave
___________a faith
___________apart

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

memoria

boxes kept
& boxes

______see n. Closure

Notable addenda
____include experiences
___in order
____from
least favourite
oh, and photobooks all are
perfect souls

____forever neatly

___in the mechanism
_____of______temporary permanence

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

hexes

balconywide

breeze shapes
anonymous
sun
s
_ets.a)low vitriol color
redding

thoughts of you
at last(!
a
wend
is happening
liebe,
these oldefeet

,…still(

knowing the way

in halflight
and moonlight

here) ,

“wie adam und eva

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

fear

it is a heartbeat
an episode of
intense self-scrutiny

take away the monster
the context,the

accumulated ephemera that arouses
gone
the storm the dark
the paranoia
the
& have it

breathing sped
heightened senses
&a heart

beating
in the pit of (my) chest

weak
irregular
product of modern survival

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

Badeyes

some nights, i think
tonight,”i’ll be
attacked
usually __ walking home
when night wears its weight
around the middle
it’s eyes
it’s always eyes
&poorly disguised viciousness

i take my hands from their
pockets
turn the corner
,ready
&
nothing
but empty
anticipation

some nights these thoughts
_________find me
laying in bed
something awake keeps me staring
at __the __ceiling
&
i
feel
that living alone is interrupted

by hidden
unwanted

visitors

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

commercialdom

go ahead
tell me the story of
your meat
singing in unfurnished rooms
like windchimes

tell me
how anxious since a child
to be touched
by Christ

how disillusioned
by the fraternities
of Sex

how you applied optimism
to the institutions
of workplace
of politics
of marriage
& bankruptcy

& i’ll tell you
of my
involved refusal
of these established

norms
& we can go together
on voting day
to cast our ballots
for a future
generation
of slaves

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

Strawman

i think mostly never
that strawman should have been given

brains
for he knew quite well
that he was flammable
ergo, was self-aware

his ought to have been courage,
courage to brave
the inevitable pyre

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

redrum

the refrigerator is alive
with
biological smells

when the green
was
greening
grew there in silent
snatches
a thought inbetween a dreaming

Giants.
what about the defeat
&the
inevitable(?

but there will be many
newvictories
before

the decrepit moss becomes
un-bearable

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

filth

let see,
let word follow word
let end let

begin

“well filth, do what you do
to become beautiful
that
is your cycle towards luminary
into brilliance

discarding the self as “ism”
,&idea
a stitch to stem a floodwaters
crash&surrender
to the melanchollies

reward yourself by becoming
the picture of confident
return

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

water for Dinosaurs

educated in echo chambers
the envy
of political café hats
speaking up-to-the-minute journalism factuals
you
whom i despise
for possessing energetic reserves&
functional world-interest
active on social platforms
quoting capitol affairs fr/a litany of names

seems like an anger unrequited
&how dare i characterize thin-skin
&rude to confuse attention w/ ignorance
from my irrelevant station raised
on superstitious magic
back-woods hollisticism a
prolific meat-eater encouraged to dream utopias

what have i but criticisms
and pocketfuls of foreign esoteric currency(?

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

giv

Friday is
a too-short kiss

before a too-short sleep&the walls begin

all of my insides pushing through
pouring down
to puddle
hope
– – to drip on you
when
Sunday’s crown
is
up-side-down(
&all the Jitterbug gives is legs
“&Me,
more me than ive been,

trying to push
my face back in

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

think am therefore, I

sweet, wet morning subtle haze
trussed up fussy from
the trashcan of sleep to stumble

and all the palenques of cockcrow
rooster’y metaphors barking
at upside-down night

colorset bleary&screwed
gristled in the creaky of ageing
carafe, spoon coffee habitues

&to stare, finally dumb from
the maddening continual reportage

drumskin of everyday beating
beating&ears go seeking softly pillows

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

unlikely Hero

idea-saturated economies

overwhelmed internal mechanism

capricious emotional response
i think i’m ready
to disappear

seriously dreaming

where was i going
to be
in all of this(?

too much
&battling that wagered statement
:a “giving up”

knowing i will rise again to kill
the despot, feed him&
twart the revolitionary.This

is My tail-chasing circle

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

Something borrowed

by whichever avenues
met&
in that expense,extravagant
;a compromise
went not a frugal reason

lifted beyond the means of reality
by a romance felt
&now all are as strangers
to that singular
,interior space

asking that poor of poor
might charity, well

take this lozenge
what ill it will heal
beggar
& be bothersome about its
meaning

“is it not given freely’?(
…)what difference actual generosity
“were you not taken by need,
so asked”)?

it is no filthier now

than we are takers

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

formulae for time

the worst of it
is the going, after
&a transplant
retain’d memories with
of
left-behind limbs

testament to struggle

find me now this vial!
slender trapping
to dispel
&
be otherwise dispossessed
externality

not withering, will be
or a fading such
&
lengthening of night
no.

it will be we”
sat in the drum
upbraiding racket

caught by the cookie-jar
insane-ly
&
irrelevant
going before

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

darko

save it(…)Summer’s
gone
&baked as bread sweet-
fresh
while able hands a ravening

fill jars with
earth

you’ll want a little
for your tooth
when
time walking-backwards

catches
those

long ears

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

scotopia

the hours when shadow sets its keening
&setting bends the redding
lowering
light

let come heavy-headed necks of flowers
nodding a steady blaining,inward
eyes
crushed petals

welcome noxious slumber

a stranger into the midden
of each inter-
solitarium

to calibrate the machinery of
time

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

Fleisch

eclipsed by the consuming
waters
the once proud seafarer submits
to eternal
inevitability

endowed
by the hands that made her
with every enchantment, and superstition
in foreknowing the navigable mysterious
ahead and on all sides

by the belief in her radiance, guided
and fell

fodder for invaders

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

abuse

is as i have suspected
:an interruption,a
course correction”
love- even when well-meant is
it would hurt
me
to see you (fumble&stumble about
so.much.so that i must
interject myself into your
logical spheres
tying unconnected ends together&
sweeping up unnecessaries

) )there)

all is arranged according to my
designimperfect
listen, beloved

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

Nipple Clamps

the day was uneventful,
apart from its ordinariness -the droll
and drum, and etcetera being always there
of course
though as these things do briefly abate
without the procession of a curtain’s parting

the exciting thing of a moment has happened;
that tickled, goose-pimple shudder, that
is why we’re here.
this, and such for my telling it; She.

certainly
as all men have lived there has, had, and will be
songs purpled with desire
stories rich with those gems of the imagination
poems, women, moments
and the endless searching for words capable
of that singular
perfect description.

mine; as instantaneous as
a door opening -time there stilled
seemingly to a stop before all returned
to monotony’s ever-present spell.

it was a weightless curl of hair slipping
off her shoulder as she -half-turning
in a doorframe
stepped me by politely. i: a-blush,
or must have more than smiled
at such an accidental enchantment, as she
sidelong had shared a pickerel grin
under a direct
and slowly closing eye

the small seconds of a heartbeat,
and an eternity ascending
through varied imagined episodes of consensual gore

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

the

around, and around
wanderingwaiting for
dark that comes like a
closing door

there is a name
other than any spoken there
time will tell clicking&
spilling its lightlong wall
and descending stair

it comes in grasps
cold and catching
thinly fitting the weight of breath
all on a spun
and tumble scratching
for a scream

unbutton Night’s suffocating let
air in and
starry
the nauseating senses

circle repeats around
and around withoutrelief:

in the corner an addict chokes
on a tongue&a
fox chases one relentless tail

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

barefoot in the yard

i
adore cemeteries though
seldom speak
of them outside of metaphors

or
trying to preserve the features
of her memory
in a country house
delicates on the laundryline
cat
licking songbird from its paws
belly sun warmed
in the grass

attic full of empty boxes stuffed
with forgetting, do you imagine
as i do
she humms to herself
a thing like a rhyme
remembered
barefoot
in the yard

between the clothespegs
there
in all the textures of
an instant

without fading

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

there

there will be a panic
a mystery unresolved, pain
tugging at threads of the

unseen. a fear of going
beyond the border of return
there will be doors

of moments, windows of interaction
closing opening, or
the reverse is not a guarantee

you will be tested. the end
will event itself in an
obvious fashion. made clear when

time will allow a retrospective view.
there will be an emptiness
to be filled, a wound

replaced. an addiction
in the form of an escape. there
will be lies, you will tell

them to
yourself

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

another

where the hard truth won’t
spare
even
as a known no glimmering in
the metaphorical dark can offer out
where, how

is this place? (a room
a box in the imagination (?)
light switch only clarifies the
cage

what to make of positivity
a painted door/ the idea
of an optional escape
from
the here and now
a reflection waiting for a face

un-
touched by the dust-trails of this
influence
another memory to hunt

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Rotten

when i were spherical
and feet carried me closer
to the ground
i was eaten
a mouth inside chewed a whistling
hollow and there brood-
larvae, by the many-hundreds
and pupae still
secrete themselves from my skin
to die in lightbulbs
now, my meridian suns haze
with the dust of attics

when i were cubical
and right, and wrong serviced
as black, or white
i was beaten
a clenched fist bore me down
to the valley of shadow
and there believed evils
that climb up-
on ladders through drafty hell’s
to die in battles
now, the many apples of my midnight
sing of Lilith

when i were animal
and by hunger i fed into
a bedroom’d despair
i was biter
all teeth, and eyes a lumbering
bloody caul,
futureless pursuer
mooning over collected anatomies
muscle’d with a certainty
to die of excess
here, the starving figure crumbs
of pockets emptying time

when i were physical
and bound to my arbitrary-self
kept the spinning globe
i was rotten,
soft, sensory-laden sponge
flailing absolutes and feeble curse
demanding presence
and not a-one surrendered
speech, or the consideration
to die in silence
now, my individual wormlure
teases Nothing

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

conjurer

long after the cauldron bubbled boils
long even after its contents
burn and black
its resin a madness scraping turn
she says “try not
to trouble yourself with that

would that she knew a fountain therein urned
reprieve from the world
that broke a burdened wing
that all-delighting, consummating spur
no more can sicken such a poisoned thing

so in circles, magic’d with a curse
i place the intricate levels of my thirst

and again remember Scorpio’s lovely sting
bites the hand that does the offering

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

I look and a Shadow looks through me

i’m going down to lie again
cushioned on the foam of gutter yeast
bit by the sighs of West,
and Southern end
with hands full of silver stolen from the night
my mind’s a puzzle softened in the wend
when all’s a dry tongue thickened with delight

i run to her, and carve again
a horn from out this cancerous lung
a tax my marrow pays
the debt of holes
that i may blow through it a charmsong sung
to warm the winter maid alarm bright coals
a lure to dangle the blight and rotted from

I went to town to feed again
and found a carcass marbled on the heap
within its meaty tunnel
market stores
of seashell combs, and dresses from the deep
i in the tower ate, and mused the more
and thrice removed a splinter from my cheek

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Noctambule

after the day has died
and the light winnows
into birdsong heat
the flight
of the indolent pale

Give us stars!
spread the thinning veil
broom the hearty wind
and dust the anvils
Let the cold come in!

shudder and stone
when the Hello’s have all
worn out
now off to their beds
these old slippers
whisper ‘cross the boards
like
forgotten dead

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

All of Us

who was the dog laughing
in the nightjars of pollen
trumpeting designs
up at windows

who wore the silks and sang
the shifting sky
into swell for the frogspore
and glister’d jelly

who at the thorned table
ate the goatskull of betrayed
for the low ruin of carnivals
desecrated mind strewn for feedhawks

who with the pocked-eye gleaned
this facile-verse a viper
lamprey mouth trying its jaws
on the equator

who in the suits of hightown
slurped his soup with pretend mimes
feeling the tingle of camaraderie
ejected for jesting trite confessional

who was told the parables
of squarepegs and roundholes
applied this earnest learning
foundered nothing and resentment

who attempted return
to animal kinskin dreaming utopias
only to walk a loneward shuffle
among the tenements of perversion

who trumpeted designs
up at the jars of windows
in the dognight
laughing pollen

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

touching an elephant in a dark room

i
am going to miss
this
old man when he’s gone
his volumes of hair
his gouty limp
his den of iniquity wreathed
with every ornament
sleeping twenty hours a day
like a slug
barely capable of managing
his secretions
his dreamy visions, his women
with their come-and-go consternations
vampire-pale, warmed
in a light pungent snake odor
this
perfect
beautiful prince
i
am going to miss this dying
old man

but not so much that i’ll
keep him
when it’s time

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

the door

there’s a break in the
wall
a crack in the
door
a baby cries in another room
a child stomps its feet
the device in my hands
replaces my identity
with its own
what is
and what is not
actual

a familiar voice speaks
to me with memories of time
and in these reminiscences i return
a past left behind
re-collected

a room destroyed another
reimagined

i remember
i reanimate settled dust
i disintegrate
and imagine a different tomorrow
tonight
with you
and the baby cries
and the child plays on the floor
and we make love
by our own light
in the
dark

as society has for centuries
as lovers have
always
a part of it all
a part of it all
and
disappear

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

My Imperfect

what thunder comes what
hooves, what
troubled trumpet!
one minute more,
one inch more
one slow, degrading slide
one moment more
dearly, deeply
grunted

begone old Time, begone
thine visage haunted!
scrapes this devil’d cerebellum
with a howl
from out that monstrous grin
a gnarled sober
crawls a scab of shade
bereft of
scowl

i am my own destroyer,
i am my storm
i rip my sails and fill
my oars
with song
O Pride, O Pride!
hath lent me but a gimbal
and from that vaunted precipice
i decline

may stinted mornings
bend
to me their Gold

may joy in destitution
gird my rudder

for i lay low and steady
to this course
and ask for none, save
my
imperfect source

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Death

gull mopes a wormy yawn
at the toothy wind
salt spray sea-wash
in the sand of a riven eye

clouds part the oppressive blue
and light retreats
beneath the gray-bellied
rain fat ready sky

the tufted grass all bends
a bristle stroke
and their petals flower
the colorless expanse

kingdom of the hunter gull
and his hosted guests
dry in the stinking heat
of an ancient grasp

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

thistle in the sweet

bothersome thorn
mark missed still struck dead
a breath unnamed
failure, once again

bled and turned
fits re-worn, holes now
in them shirtsleeves
chewed the apple’s worm

useless spells, fall unused
at the shore of wind-whipped wave
i stirred the break
and with anger set the foam

to spite her calming eyes
the soft tingle of her touch
i ate the flesh
snarling with disgust

but the knowing leaves
fumbled dry in decay
what once was green
a husk of moth flown into flame

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

voir dire

never, and never my love flown far
and near
wades in the gristle’d glade
of goose gone lakes afire
in teeth of the jawbone hungry damned
eat, and eat they sworl
in the shark-blood torrent finned
thirst for the de-flowered fuse,
and die

her lust-light charms
attract
the snake-head poison grown
they wield the sword, mere claimants
to the stone-cold throne
inspired
for no gold they own, but the glint
of the eyes of liars
ever, and ever my love flown arrow
and bow

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.