filthwizard

it is more than somewhat
surprising
how much of me
collects on surfaces
when

by personal endeavours am led
to the small magical spaces
of &just
before&

in that nothingspace, I
am
liberated
,or clean, or anything. oh

but this body does sleep
& has become a forgetting place
for unfinished
beginnings

10, 1, ~21

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

re: flames

_____________________________be good and put it
__________where a blindman can find&
____groping in the dark
at lampstands
_____________will
__at this one momentary_______________
____,for you____________________________alight with
__________pause&____________________frustratedcuriousity
_____?)________________________________! flummoxed
take inventory_________________________&all at once fishing
___with an ageing______________________________for two
__________________memory____________________slippers
______________capsize______________________with
___________&cry out__________________anguished
_______________________________utterances
,bitte schön

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

heartbrokenthings


whonow
for all appearances
a
man
trying through adult psychology
a
remember self(whenchild
identifying with
_____________ with non-parental role-
model processes
all
cartoons)?
, or
movie
makebelieve
&
imitated literature self’s
what was the story
the fable
eternally retold
&
behaviourally reinforced(?
&
will
mutates(as it does
cognitive reiteration

“a truthy reality overlaid
with perception biases…”


Oh,
& yes yes
Kermit the frog me imagined
banjo’s, ___ and rebellion

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

arret

if nothing is holy
the experience suffers, “i think
something
must
be sacred, why else etc ?
____for instance,
(she) would do
sillyromanticthings
, pullingme into photobooths
(I) thought
expressionless would
be
__funny

it wasn’t
&when it seemed as though
a desperate
________atm’pt to recreate
a simple nothing
(she) might have seen
__________in_ movies

it wasn’t
__ wasn’t
ever polite to mention
, or that (I) had

resigned myself
insome
________detrimental way
_____defeated
to that shuffle, and plod
not (I)! not
when(my)mind did swim
_______from one
beautifully imagined curiousity
______________________to
______________the next
insisting openly in publicspaces
at breakdowns !
, oh that had (I) not

kept so much
to (my)self

still
stupidlyattached
unplucked
_____W
,… ings

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

red balloon

barely more than
a reed of grass
shapelier,
firm
rooted
,or plucked(oh, never
& green. green
as a latespring noon,
green
as the riverbend
where fire tries, & slows
a
beetle(me growsfat
in her garden barely,
able
barely breathing
barely
&
a
tickle

© 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.

colour

!such informations
from the associated
as texture
,smell
& taste are
visceral
foods pleasurable to the organs
what

is not expected
?metallic
u
_n
__d
_e
r
the tongue&numbness
when the ritual of touch
reveals a hollow
featureless
&taste too gives
only
the

indication of a
sensory
this
(i believe) is somewhere near

the surface,
nearer

& questioning trust

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 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.

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.

#&!+

right foot in a looking glass
left foot in a bucket
dragging help

disconnected Me&dressed-up
luggage
hurry up hurry up

one more time to set these pieces
running
& a message in the sand

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

what survives

i begin always on paper
with pencil
then transcribed
my bookshelf is a museum of madness
older than X yrs

-wonder if any of it will be discovered
like Dickenson
after she passed, her family
packingup things
whole drawers full of notes lost
before somebody decided to read

them
all that we have now is what

survived

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

the process

caught by the middle-distance
a mote(? a memory

does dust remember

thinking’s pained expression)a thought!
roaming the pejorative
– – – hunting sinewy context

all eyebrows&something define-ably extraneous

then the madness of jumping apropos
arrives; a poet

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

deeper than a dream within a dream

an idea of ourselves
interpreted
by the reflections of other ideas

Poe could have said

consciousness creates reality, though not freely
it is guided by the realities
of other consciousnesses

which should mean that this whole thing
could be undone
if one could imagine a here, without
the idea of here inhabiting it

with all
that we see, or seem

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

OctoberRed

come back to me
breathing mountains in
the skin of raindrops
&
those welcoming sunset-reds

let, from their peaks, the waters
and rivers, come
as grass beneath the toes
&bees,bees, fidgeting the busy flowers

let fall your hair about my face
as a mist, laboured
with the heavy scent of summer

rake my branches
&
empty to again be filled with
color&the sounds of loving

you

© 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.

mulberry bushes

a piece of it gets inside
&You are a believer
making gestures for sentiments
following collision

)tender parts heal
as well as intentions, yet
“sometimes things happen for a reason(
&if
are altered, Not ended
what comes then of
that
person exchanged

what of collisions romantic
the same, non? there is wreckage
tendernesses
e n d i n g s

but this
is not tragic
it is
explained

everyone, become platonic fishermen! with
their descriptions
&
cynical. you will find it
where you left it waiting
for
a
decision
who, what
are, is a possession does
not need to belong, it is
&
as its nature; a cage
to a finale
commensurate ash hoped
to be more than measurable distinction
somehow
just a bit of the Great Wisdom

ours
&
ours

© 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.

l’amour

let’s
with nothing
start

thinning-out, or
spreading

apart
there within a(vaporous
,perhaps,
skin
(?
one ghostly left-behind
of a
living

start
with nothing,
let’s
&grow&grow

as birth plus(+)time suggests

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

repeat

with a swiftness&
a movement
cast
aside the vessel, breathe
in-
to
form. liquid interior/”the,”
is
it-self a closenessofSound
full
in the ears

expirating lung
controlled slow
&
contemplative meditation

candle doused to be relit
with

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

out

out in to it all
thinly float

see for yourself,
words
spelled on a dream
‘s shore

“let it go

a lie is all you keep
this, and this&nothing

follow me

soon the common-kind
will you endure

le sacre du

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

small minutes

somewhere in MeSpace,I
am a fumbling yarnball
trying
truly
or,
telling self such stories
convincing a

oh, there are dependencies
towhich i can’t relate
herenow noose-tying.right?)
but a surrendering

more rewarding more
difficult

to fall inside
let go. grab hold

once again

pain
is an effort of living. i tell
theseselves, or
emotions are the effort of pain
keep simple what is
&breathebreathe.breathe

either changes not the gossamer
of budding flowers

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

wallflower

walls vibrate with the rhythm
of a wave
eating a constant shore

stripped of the memory of
trees )the in-blown things attract
a fringework of windshape

here:no green snaps&shoots
of idea – only a
percussive drumskin of sky ceiling

echo
manymouthed sounds of shape
&
terrible
terrible
) )people-like things

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

a meditation

a body is a failure&an
inability to resolve it
existence is feeling
corporeal

reality occurs somewhere
to an externalidentityself
we are perpetually losing
&re-acquiring
this
makes a complexity
of simplicity
:life;

nothing but inevitability
is liquid

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

giddying little sorrow

for any of this(these)to be
more
than just impermanence
onedesire must, above all others glow
more
brilliantly

That! the light by which we guide
our instrument
That! future to which we cast
our(near&wanting)-selves

for fantasy be.made.real
(more)
This! or less;that vessels girded
with semi-precious wishes, only

and minor victories of chance-value
-a lusterless trinket
),be

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

hunger

quiet is all are all(if
exclude the murmuring stomach
‘s)& a twisting of bodies

anticipatory, eagerly
the slack-jawed gathering hush
for a parade of enzymes

a chattering resumes
differently
saluting the soul

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

in Saddletown looking for a Horse

where i find my mind
this morning wandering through the amble
of what’s to come
of moments that build a day
the narrative in these domes internal
peaking at decision
without plot
,or function
i’ll take down the old books
reread the winsome losesome waged betwixt
good and evil compromises
as it always has
when all the all
dead unions held a calvary line against
feeling
that my time has come and gone

but i will light a candle
say a prayer that need should still
exist

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

asleep, routine

…exigencies
,or perhaps the Great Procrastinator in
me shirks demand i have
difficulty relating to
what Webster’s defines as
“pressing need”

this is a hunger, i think
a situation calling for immediate action

routinely asleep
and dreaming better Unicorns

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

co-

who had never for a balance
spoken(?
there we,
there was
begin
words fit neatly
for their functions(& a sentence
gathers
building to a point
should
all let fall&leaveslayclutter
stumble shoes
pieces of unfinished steps

begin “yes,
the hinges hold the door upon its frame
which hangs
this way
,and that
see”? a room beyond and rooms
connect to mutual
interactive steps.two pairs.go walking
there we,
there were

again.

© 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.

better

have un-screwed the shelves my
emotional bric-a-brac now warms
the floor register
yes this
generic metaphor unmantled have,
i
grown to a -morphosed fly
from maggot. This is the way
of salt-cured wounds
fail
learn
,fail better

found a lipstick’d wineglass you
forgot to mention

yesterday

© 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.

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.

not go gently

with Other enabled infirms
on a long track
and labouring along on two feet
leaves a hobbled impression
of One’s self

though the company gathered
a homogeneous collection
of sticks and pinch-sacks
be at peace
with their ultimate tedium

it has not settled or struck
me yet still believing
there is a door

a landmark still withholding
best
kept secrets

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

loved

loved on the way excited to the space
that voice holds anxiously to a name playing
you and you and you spritely at the spoken
carries like a flicker in the skin
exposed what had sharpened tooth to bone

almost floating over the weatherwet pavements
when found forgotten how had feet kept step
to that dance of faces drained the morrow
sped increasing comfortable gestures fall
a curl upon the slowly letting in

finger traced a flower wreathing ribbon
shared between sounds of mouthed release
caution care fragility dares a telling
stories move fires in phantom hearths
ghostly settled dust a bittered flavour
curse laid on the bridge between two rooms

forgiven repeated forgiven a larger sphere
reveals a path away and to the all
kindle renewed want a breathing closer
to decorate cathedral’d rook and stone
streams a trickle hearts a beating river
real is truer than what touch can spell

without guile or need to secret knowledge
upon once a child remembered planting
seeds the armoured towers in age we wore
contempt would rust familiar to the loathe

retreat to self neglected by the bruise
to reinforce defending mutual interest
this is owed to eating more than given
dried the garden wildly overgrown

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

pedestals

i have given you all
and now am nothing
it would have been a beautiful
ruin to watch
us dancing like ravens
above the onrushing ground
ribbons of each other
between our beaks
but
it doesn’t end like this
anger will take the place of desire
and desire a venom to spur
a different determination
if only we could let the other
go

let the unfinished stewer alone
snipe, and stumble in the
all-too familiar tombs
of that rotten inner-deep
we sought to climb from out, grasping
at angels

there is a circle, yes,
a mad circle
within that self preoccupied space
and the down ‘n hungry poison will bite
with teeth anew

anger will eat its way out
to the open air
because it has to
and to that end, i
am but a shallow replacement

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

us or them

wasn’t difficult to say
it means more now to hear
once those three words first trembled

i watched
and a mouth moved to speak them
a face waited to hear them returned

this is the excitement what follows
a struggle to keep them first,
and last

everything was happening as it should
and never occurred that we
were acting out roles

,man and woman, trying
a simple knot to keep
what was invented for us to maintain

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

feat et dore

where is the eye my apple spied
the tell and air o leaf tall thrust

imagined, image a lover lair’d
sped or spared in given light

when was might a losing trust
or infinity’s all a gone or gain

fountain well pillory’d stair a crumble
o’er the edge a sinking in dust

what possibility the worm at my ear
whispering tones a faint undying

trying and trying the frameless aware
empty the quiver of arrowshot night

why a rewinding, retying of shoes
gravity’s gift a following pain

lost and again thrown to flight
remember a life un-gambled is used

who, and who lostlove the simple
have and be had a liarless flame

feather exposed to the lick of a cry
more worthy than my unbeautiful lust

© 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.

Hyphen

A grander stroke
than this
stood they
pairs of eyes
heads full of bees
bottled questions
to be loosed
and so a surrender
must event itself
in the form of a dance
ungainly
as sure-footed spiders

it ends the way it does
with more of a ponderance
at its beginning
should I
have taken a lover that year?

was it worth the rue
to stand for right,
and sober skepticism?

what have any of us
now
but mixed memories
crawling like insects
up the parts
of swollen pride

I try to forget all that
and say “I loved her,
capricious thing

© 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.

Giant

i first met you
in a late adolescent
vision spun for dreamyhead
a presence of tormenting
this
the future me would reflect on
curious

no name, until i named you
Mine
on those summer nights
when the sun crept low,
and long
following your skirt pleats
up that staircase
you cast a subtle glance
over your shoulder i ignored
tranced
by the revealing
and disappearing shock
of panty white cotton
up the dusty slant-light
and intermittent shade

you smelled of danger
and uneclipsable knowledge
the things you knew
destroyed
with a sublimating transform
held in your powerful talons
though you kept the secret of flight
i was a giant
in the momentary magic
there transferred

imagine
the continents crushed between my toes
the worlds created between my thumb
and forefinger
tracing close breath
a warm line
of saliva wet mouth
squeeze and nibble
with a naturalness we didn’t learn
in books

i was bitten by a curse
to pursue
this moment again
in others
as a prototype reenacted
and those stories ended the same
with an inclination to hate you
but
i only see my giddy self
chasing fictions
with a time-worn net

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Poem

that comfort blanket
searched for that warm
undying light

that knows and pains and
sympathizes hardships
for the beauty of willing

it reminds the webs to be
spun again where
the garden grows greenest

where the shadows taste of
deeper darknesses
braying like a beast

beneath the fisher moon
consoling the shores of dream
humming an odd-remembered song

it is in the trees of benches
in the untrod snow like a sheet
of music waiting for fingers

for a voice

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

a naïve and dying thing

i remember the distant
sounds of coughing
ears going in
,and out
mind ws’in ajar thrown
to a hy
-drogen maze

arms lank at my sides
palms turned up
head tilted deep breaths
walking
like fall
ing
somehow i found my way
home
to bed. last night’s reverie
a fragmented remembrance
never to return
complete

cornflakes. milk 1%
crispy
in the yellow morning clean
bowl
spoon
sink
breakfast puzzl
_______________es
fuck, __________ ?
i must be living in someone else’s
house

© 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.

exist to be discovered

love,
a Well dried of deep
dark water, thirsty
hollow
screaming wind
enough to drink whole uni-
verses
bestial
ravening mad-want
see
the desert stretched beyond horizons
see the sun-drenched spectacle of death
the vortex is all around
feel
the heat rise, choking its way inside
fight
with fresh red lung meat
inhale
consciousness
is not long for this.
consume. the mercy of illness
compels
divide
apply concerned determination
to the vertical leap
and strike when the moment is
rich with metaphorical compositions

it will return
it will exist to be discovered
always

she will cut the pearl of her warmth
and mend her sorrow
with your flesh
if it would only keep you

and
can it
satisfy
?

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

The Stanford Prison Experiment

this blank page
you’re waiting for me
to fill up
with words,
with the presence of idea
for
me
to expound, divulge
create romantic scenario
arrive at a subtle dramatic
metaphor

to tell you
a tree
is more than a tree
and lie about the spiritual
nature
of mountainborne rivers
and the corpses of swamps
magic circles, all
halos of crows
the dying circumstance
of spring

to expose
a bit of beautiful symmetry
a slip of hipbone, skin
tissue dressed skeleton
a fragile
wily spirit to bend and turn
like a leaf of paper
a supplicant that can not exist
without you exploring the walls of my
surface with a finger-
a judgement

have i served the function
of curiosity
has your identity,
my identity,
the identity of words
been sufficiently put to the fire
of question
is it ever deep enough
is there a further plane
to be pushed to
beneath

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Libra

beaming
bright behind closed eyelids
illuminating columns of dust
this
inanimate space,
this megalithic hollow with synth-
etic interior decor, at once
seems as ancient as
time

with shadow; light
with light: shadow
inseparate,
paradoxically equal

i am a face and a name
where the silence surrounds my head
disembodied
hands probe walls, feet
reach tentatively, i
am an idea
and a thot

the shadow, and void
through which this illumination
plunge’d, by which this light
intensifies
seems vacant, yet
with a cosmology
of person

darkness envelopes sound
feet shuffle,
lungs, heart, echo bounces
a reverb with clarity
starts the eyes
leaping
mind: a frightened playground of
impossible creatures

feet flattening the dust of millennia
whole cities of microbes
giant
and
insect, entering the earth
as comets
set fire to the sky beyond
with galaxies of their own

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Valdez’s Donkey

i adore the scent
of her bloom
it’s a presence that remains
after her spidery thing
of love
it makes the ridiculousness of
her profile
more endearing
tho
when
(as she does)
troop in pallet, after pallet
after pallet
a serrated line of antique
intricacy
aimed at me, and sets the walls
of her moat afire
that ridiculousness is less so,
and more-so
endearing

her, with reinforced walls
and unassailable
phantoms
wait
for me to parley
to approach silver armored,
pearl horsed, raised white flag
and present a token of trust
:her tincture
unwashed from the nape
of my waist

and this is insanity, i insist
in cold-rooms
wrapped in her web
…madness”
then a trumpet sounds
in the courtyard
and once more i
am evicted
to brave a storm
co-created

,out to the desolate border
turn
hungry, reinvigorated
sword ready

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

living together

& that’s what we’ll do
cut the body up
portion out meat for each-
other to chew
i’ll work on this
you work on that
take a piece of kidney
lung
leave me the heart
and we’ll work our way up
to the eyes and brain
naming each bit as we go
ignore the spirit
it has no body
and we can finish
sit down
cross our legs
and make war with other
beasts

© 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.

Give Something

it comes down to this
once more
convictions and principles met
clean hands washed muddy
high horse pastured, lame
the creditors are at the
door
something’s gotta’
give

where in all the noise
are you?
i know your number, say your name
there’s no reprieve
yet we pretend
dance a little circle
shaky, solid ground
and it comes
to this
react, interpret, defend

if there’s a way through this
it’s through the fire
falling on the
sword
am i the Man from La Mancha?
_____am i anxiety, storm, and ire
_____lashing at phantoms
_____stabbing at shadows
truly, is this my only device?
for want i love
for love am damned
to run

into, and away
from

© 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.

like knives, shadows crawl

when in an inert room
a dreamer hangs
and fills the gathered orchestra
with his mind
the pallor and wan
scrape like dusty brooms
that sweep the ochre of Eden
into Night

the worlds outside the dreamer
lay asleep
and each of those sleep dreamers
of their own
the stars between the galaxies
of each
spin light of promised return
to dawn reborn

tho’ in the time before the waking
gather
the impossible’s as solid
as any stone

belief: a gem that glitters
as any bauble
magic: a diadem truer
than purest gold

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.