Baldwin

how could anyone believe he’d
want to
holding
some thing inert,& toy-like
on one end
& having something horrifying

happen on the other
& there’s no undoing it, no
re-take

each moment will unfold
to the next, as it does
& a new chapter
of your life will be written
by
the internet
yeah, that disgusting playground
but there is publicity, i suppose &
they say
“the only good press,
is bad press.” oh,

i can hear them typing

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

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.

about doorways

the thing about doorways
,or __le rendez-vous __is&oh, but
nobody ever
____meets
___ in doorways (! that
_____is
_____a
_____cinema
_________creation

an
intent to frame light
only
suggesting fragility

no different to
a jacket collar pulled up
against the rain
& situationally absent taxicabs
ah
c’est être

but there are balconysbalconys
& men
_____with latin hearts

promise moons to women
if one would perhaps be superficially
resistant to the
eventual
___prendre des attitudes
,but

that wasn’t what you asked me

© 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.

M,


when it was dark
but by our small light
,roisin
i
sat on that disgusting floor
with
you

&
loved
as you did
a song that seemed
magical
here(!

is where the car goes
right next to the big
Redbox
on the gravelly

& t h i s

a snippet of grass
Here
the sun warms
earthworms
and one
spr
___inklerwet
,
railing

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

bleak

its always december
_______in february
___except
______last year

______last year
we had a proper
_____with snow
_______even(!
_____and
scrunched-up downtown faces
_february faces
__canadian faces
all the way to edmonton(
i don’t know about
___________the
___newSany
_____more
i heard Qanon said
spaceshiplazerbeams caused
_____________________forest
____________________fires
T____supporters ate Sam Hill, &
___________memes storm
_______________________‘d the Capital Bldg.
,anyway Trudeau finally pubesced
________(facially)
and triple A Hockey was

cancelled
________but we had
______a
right
__good’un
!)

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

seek

used to have it
yes i did they said
sharing is
a letting go

tried that on for yrs
nomatter how just
never fit

have now
like
square-one
&it

‘s
morelike gettin’old

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

your Somebody

my mother tells me
love
but, confesses not to understand
my thinking
“its all right,” i tell her
making a joke
and laughing at my own joke

she has made this
confession
often
enough that it has become
a part of our narrative
this is why
(i think)
i felt bad when last
she visited&
set my
house

in order

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

Parkinglot

the pavement is being worked on
today
___concrete broken
____shoveled up
______loaded into trucks
& taken away

the wear had been showing
in cracks

it offended people
all for a bit of green
_____________________you know
_______________________cityworkers bid on this
__________________to come up here
& hammer out a fresh paved
parkinglot

its like a reverse balding
life had been beginning to show
& they wanted that

smooth
geometry

back

,so its going to be noisy
for a couple weeks

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

Something

its something like a swing
without a summer
&there’s a hook right through your middle
swimming like falling
its a

something like a spring
bouncing with a rhythm
scared you’ll pinch your skin
between pain

&wanting hurt to feel better
something
like a sting

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

lie

the truth about privacy
is
that it is desired
by intimately curious
(in this case) la femme
a translation is proposed
to wit
for the item:Secrets,
1 token access pending performance review
providing(ofc)vulnerability is not man-handled

though

i have a growing suspicion that she w a n t s
her secret laid bare
“isn’t that why you’re here(?
the grandeur, the
being a more-impossible constellation
of parts(… ”
anonymous contribution to
&oh, the littlest bit
of spectacle(?”

this is the waited for

ask me
____this,
i love you
____push me

____make me feel
deniable

completely and freely continue to
&

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

books, and other smells

there was a not so long ago, i
would never have believed in
touch-screens

to think! all of this was a living
once rememberthat when you’re
thumbing between jackets

trees is the eventuality we are
becoming — – vegetable&natural
hard with words

&stories every untold will be
painted on the walls of a rediscovered
history understood

&librarieslibrarieslibraries
where)men with groomed&wild looks, sit
elbow to elbow

in the stacks with time

© 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.

eyes

thats when in comes the

darkness&teacandle
lit
– – this one is mineyours
might be different
, but

mine
has a low quiet flame close
to the floor in
s
h
—-a
—-d
o
w
circle all&
ceiling
above
,
somewhere in the middle between
floor and ceiling middle is
-me

seeing in the flicker feeling light

rise up nude legs&disappear eyes
what just was

forgotten doing remembered looking for

here trapping(> a mouth moves
& teeth&teeth
& —

,curl
in that low humming smile

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

springcleaning

defoliate the furniture
ruffle all the linens&
under the legs of tables
featherout the webs
discover new old spiders
messyup the settled dust
busy as brooms, choking
old in the open room
particulates floating visible&let
the light fold in. “say, and my what a beautiful

mess we made”

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

H

went with all of the ancient felt
possibly to that space
waited, i

“you see,
they keep all them cardiologymachines
on a separate floor”

with the ideas of trees&of birds
&chairs quiet with magazines
shuffling people
actually old
only
young&stupid me in the Golf&Fishing digests
,a puzzle
to one elderly woman attached fixedly to
her wheelchair&(a sentence wordlessly shared
–  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  -over the subject of my untied shoelace
what happenstance my being there

aglets clicking loudly on the tile

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

pond

you wanted me i think not
to panic
listening to your tone
how could, so calm
you(? or was it
for my sake
in spite of yourself
equally
alive
with anxious vibrations
surface deep

© 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.

entre nous

let us of(then)
-the touching ;speak
i
would name the tips
&reaching want a curiosity
O, nothing is unknown
that is
anticipated

to name(then)what
predatorial advances(?
a daring to creep innocent
per-chances,

speak one “yes,
-one yes.remove&awkwardly
into a different pleasure
grip
for all what torture kept
had eaten out the heart

of it
&
cease
rythm slows to stealing

each from each

© 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.

pour vous

cannot force the instrument, i
to my will -there is
an agitator must event the process)this
happens, can and does

to the words then&arranging
with purpose

a calligraphy

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

remember

i thought about trifling some
romantical flippancy -a moment ripe
when gentler tones
do not abide this brutal present-tense

what a fist takes of touch
differently(the anxiety of being lost
or silenced by
that frenzying need to be first, be

it is not
an evening slow
when summer simmers low,and the clouds abide
a wide and starlit sky
the insects all

bring forth the firefly
)though, that is close

© 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.

skin2skin

&so you come in
flourishing gestures as your

familiar impressions retreat
to an internal architecture while

on the surface !)alive
with irritated projections

looking but finding only glimpses, i
respond inspiring calm

as is why you came with your disguises
that i(practicing love), disarm

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

Give

of exhaustible thought energy
self
ish
ly
even as we never think of our selves
as self “ish”
,or that we give without expecting transactional
return

which is a lie

the moment when natural growth was
inhibited by civilization’s prudence,
the simplicity of the animal kingdom
had been lost

© 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.

Rubble Town Still

M,
across the prairie, snow is blowing
like a wave
wind beyond the cottager homes set
glowing
in their huddle
town, aglister with the busy-crunch of plod
a plume of whinnying engines
sky dusky velvet
chipper enforcement officers test benevolence
on ditch-bound potatoes
in tow truck paradise
an exhausted unemployment line waits
outside
mail carriers, late
for the weather
all of the grisly chatter imaginable
at FoodBank twenty-blocks in the wrong direction
carrying
offbrand vegetable tins
over a desolate bridge

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

&

because the essence of human existence
should be liquified in metaphor
that
Time’s immutable drum be deafened
song and story be

and language

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

the truth about artificial intelligence

do you remember when i
‘d call you up
&we’d talk for hours&the con
-versation w’ld be about nothing
specific
one

of us w’ld be folding laundry or
a familiar song w’ld play in the background
there
‘d be that reminiscing on a word
soundslike touching laughter

whom forinstance said
i told you how much i was moved
that you would bother to come
through that wilderness

with me
after
all”

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

bastion

a portion
of defensible balustrade still managing
to offer sanctuary
despite the crumble

portage, and parapet
from which a survey might be conducted
,a plan devised,
or safety assured

when used co-junctively with
l a s t
;hopelessness underpins the archic texture
of a lone citadel, gleamed in a fading light
enough still to contrast
a desolate scape

she, and her words betraying no desperation,
gestures toward the perceived
beacon conjured
this is the importance of things
this
is the power of words

i see what it is and the translation creates
communicatedimage
my response: a carefully constructed proposal that love
inhabits all,
hinges on the pivot

where i wait to intercept response

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

her body

despite
attempts to hide it
she needs
almost presumably, beyond
recognizable flaws
to be seen -less than un-attainable
more than
simply human

;desired.
with even her detached appreciation
for what could be described as
imprisonment

within,

© 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.

blank

alright i’ll show you
once again the trick
is to be mindful
of position respective to light
life
seemingly will move
as if commanded
then i watched as she
with an expression of delight
suggesting wondrous manifestation
moved the imagined
and i saw only
hands in silhouette
before
the canvas

© 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.

black rose

would we
as children, recognize
each other

did not then know what
for looking was, i

a reason?)in these
forests, in sweetsmelling
streams –
turning to footfalls
in spring frost, see

a dream for a thing different
than any other
grown
to its natural

,or in itself despairing
singular
beauty

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

living and dying

destroyed
when recreated waiting
hammock afternoons
no
bugnets catching
rainbows no storms, no
heavy
books&musty dust
i have in many
leafs
of paper pencil shavings
crumpled ideas
wrinkled elbows

history told
in desk topographies
staring
down
the horizon destroyed

waiting

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

hello

hello happens with a fold
in space
i see myself in a future
minute
near enough for touching
to be held
by you, “Hello,”

and everything seems to still
a moment theorized by time
-travellers(our unity
has deleted past-possibles
,and created
new-probabilities)

romance,
in an instant twines its roots
around our bodies
the surrender and the resistance
is a force
mistaken for fate
if but to conclude:
an irrational reality has
within it actual consequence

then your two feet, and mine,
have stumbled
getting here (in that each stumble was)
an unseen fortune
waiting to present itself
as our steps finally
met

reliving the new, and wonderfully-new
is as human an event as anything
but all the clocks are ticking
time will arrive
with differential speed
the dreaming done it must be
decided (by every name including
relationship) where

going with this are we
now as two
with the world at a doorstep

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

yours

if i fall apart now
it is be
-cause the pieces
that i cut off

are Mine to choose

is
what i wanted to say
iswhat i told myself i’dsay
if
saw you again

isn’t true. can’t lie won’t
not even to spare this

or these
wish they were

yours

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

shared

for a little bit of meat
pot boiled rice
a green-hearted vegetable

i would trade this un-fed body
dance, my white-bellied dance
naked as a moonbeam

for an encore of bread crust
recite fire-side incanto’s
of ancient magical property

for a moment let the dragons in my mind
spread their wings that yours
may give colour and receive them

for the prospect of a recognition
eyes and eyes locked, lost
in the portals between possibility

i would trade this self of mine
an idea kept, longer than needed
if one, a you, could see yours completely

hinge this starving tired
to the slow rising stomach of a breath
following shared dreams

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

still want

remember always a some
thing wanted, I
what that was or changeschange)s
less now
older
but
then ask
what
am i doing in this room
?
still

excuses to personsuit&walk
my wear
streets of people imitating self
for a dreamer un-dreamed
see-
king an un-initiate to def
-lower
barter over cost the best
parts of anatomy my
most alluring
brain
i hope,pants

off.conversation terribly feel
s a streetfight like drag
-ged backalleyscared words.my
words
talking/acting never
come out, come across
shame to meet
an
awkward IDK
what is a man expected
to, why

i love have loved met love
can cry
remember connected being a
he&she
hair on pillow mused skin
perfumed delicate thin
-gs.sounds.
&eyes!
how cld i forget ?ever
staring back
at mine or trying not
to smile

she am now have not me
i do
again and want to

try

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

make again

when found begins
freshthumb explored dis
-covered naval

all within alight with
eyes and probes sear
-ching New &nothingNew&
dies

creator then decides

let inhabit whisper
-ing,ghosts(or make
again of tumblestuff
alive

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

anthropoids

i’m already over it itwas
day(s)ago,but
since you asked

this guy(this
that seems altogether charming,al
-together singular
he,he)is
a potato

agreeing on the wise
against inclination
not disagreeable
of a sort that
mind’s his own mind

to be liked,or thought like
-able he wants(wants&
that inthat should not
give trust
completely

to he(he)you
are an opponent

to be absorbed
&mimicked,

mannerism copied,tone&gesture&
philosophical persuasion
you(poor little you)will
see a likeminded, he(he) will
earn what he did not
work for

friend

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

after Florence

from this distance
i find it hard to imagine
an ocean trampling across
the prairies

water destroying, drowning its way
through every thing
and there’s the fear that One can survive
only so many disasters

from here i sit, companied with empathy
wondering over your many
wounds
there was perfectness, this is not it

for you
my thoughts are a nest of concerns
would it move you to know, would you cry
and wish for me

has all that you have, or had
been finally taken for the last time?
for me
it is you

there are hells yet
for miles on all sides
this one here, so far away
is mine

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Glass Castles

there have always been moments
when the clouds break
always the feel of pavement
and temperamental skies

always a hopeful thought
for rainbows
,like legends passed down
from ancient days

always the pangs of loss
and joy in acquiring things anew
glass castles though they are
and wandering from heart to heart

only as real as transient desire

© 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.

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.

About dust

I suppose I could transcribe
these thoughts
or watch
this shadow crawl it’s way
across the geography of my ceiling 
is it a beetle, a moth?
trundling along-with its manylegged

inspection
 
what could be so fascinating
about dust?

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Unruhe

dew flies frost
on milkbutter spring
light
slants in
to this minute space
with a half-closed eye
the vegetative
threatens the garden
overgrown leafy flesh
in abundance

their buzzing is consistent
with its own serenity
of  dungpile colonies
gash broken against
the contrast

blue skies above
gray Cancer
snipping at Libra’s scales
in the gutter of every tower
you can hear the singing

© 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.

,or just another retreat

wen it isn’t you
i run to
a retreet i set the table for
habitually
magic circles can be found
in
ev’rything
“this is the way we- -wash our hands
comb our teeth
brush our hair”
this is the way humanitee builds monUments
i’m making light of yr’ situation
and how could i not
when you give me that look, like
the factual world has no place
for esoteric wizardry?
i am waht i eat
and i’ve had my fill of universes

© 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.

almost positive

spring is coming
in the slow elliptic way of
a rotating planet
spells of warmer days
mixed with cold
Canadians are social almanacs
“nice weather we’re having
translation:
don’t mistake my sunny disposition
as an invite to my weekend BBQ
better than yesterday”
: i prefer the friends i have, thanks
we all end up looking
like euro-ukrainians
maybe it’s the local packing plant
or spring long
weekend roadside donut stands
i can smell downtown from here
in a memory of streetsweeper city cleanup
they put a petting zoo right there
on main street
you’d think that’s a metaphor
but i’m being literal
Mellencamp came to town one time
or was it Bryan Adams
and the beer gardens will fill
leaving the evidences of disposable incomes
for the city workers
and the vendors of dubious asian descendants
will leave for their casino’s in the east
before our summer
and it’s only march

i explore the snowscraped parking lot outside
looking for dancers

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

correspondence from Mars

Time
comes to us all
this is life, we
‘ve all heard the metaphor
of the clear ringing bell,
or the Train -the
living thing of Time, rushing
toward us through the complexity
of unknown distances
they say
it all began with a Bang:
matter collided in Space
unknown subjects on a path of an-
nihilation and birth
& here we are
jumping through light
glittering with magnificences
not our own

convinced
that beauty is ours to define,
intelligence is a quantifiable substance
or that identity
is a proximal energy
an inventable fantasy
this is true,
and not true

but I sympathize
this
will be little other than a pebble
for the shoes of what you must endure
in the repetitions of awake,
and asleep
in the unendurable monotony
and it says nothing for the
dead

astrological bodies collided
creating The Bang
however matter, like energy
can not be created from nothing
so it follows logically
that ancient galaxies must have existed
before our conceptions
with a Time of their own
yet we
with our dying illuminations
have decided Fates and Gods
as explanations for the
obvious
and i
do not do this to be loved by you
rather,
i do this with the Hope
that you might love
yourself

it starts in
the blossoming of flowers
bees assist the escape
the Americas are on fire
with copulation
heat enough to last through
winter

the symmetry of towers
make alien landscapes worthy
of our Druidic histories
microchips married to organisms
avatars animated by archetypes
and this is an arrangement of symbolic
statements

inter-netwiredmeat, in love
with escape
this is about evolution
i was born in a world
of infant computers
now i have been a dozen people
but
you are a constant
a point of orbit
a nucleus
i am a particle
casting a minute shadow
across your sphere
audience to your tide-waters,
your dissolving of dinosaurs
your
shifting geologies

you are a woman
i am a broken machine, a discard
left to the devices of elements
crudely displayed
to those
that come to guess at the preponderance
of my nudity
i offer amnesias

© 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.

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.

Preen

i
hate the way you
preen, not un-like
a freshly tongue-bathed cat
yawns and droops a heavy head
momentarily regal
admired beyond the audience
in front of a sun-warmed
vacant window

or, a gargoyle
crookedly crouching
scowling a monotone
of un-spoken words
tension
in the wrists of shoulders
chin pointed
out
with a curse

or, dappled
sleepy in your morning
flowerbed
smelling of spring pollen
and sex, rolling naked
on your side
thigh, over thigh
hands searching thin-air
for a huggable pillow
while
you mewl out vowels
,and sigh feeling lusty
yes, you know
without looking
– you are adored

wicked thing

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

la vie d’un poète

days when the gallant hooves go trumpeting
to the night
rain fills buckets and sheets stick
with delirium

the head goes bumping, and bumping
an inner scratch
and all the circles stay unbroken
despite the drum

an apology works its crow-beak
on the brain
from out that echo a storm beats
with a flare

nostrils throttle and throat creaks
out a snare
a howling cry emerges
from the pain

nights when the gallant lie
before the dawn
tears fumble like a poets fingers
for an egg
and the broken one rejoinders
with a song

reach out a steady hand
and feel again

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

eat of my flesh

flown the wind gone grain
dust grape
spider dew web
spun long with a prick of leaf stuck
in the Moon’s eye corner, time time
waits for Autumn’s crisp
departure
slow into the quick of snow

beneath the Summer lathe
wrung dry
drum-skin beard of night sleeps
the green fuse
kiss of light, life life
beats indefatigable glowing growth
lapping waves from Eden’s heath
break the shore

whisker of rebirth
tweaking Death’s red nose rubbing
the skeleton Earth meat
on the cross teeth speak jaws
of kingdoms
won and lost it’s all here
now, now

and the scryer’s fingers probe

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

captivated

fragile slip of frost
on dew-back’d leaf melt bead
tickles along the spine rib blades
of her silhouette

as Eve might
have reached an armlong hand above head
at that mysterious
gleam of fruit-skin naked
in her garden

too perfect, the pale of her
and i watch that timeless moment
captivated

© 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.