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.

addendum

at the end of this
I
in my fashion)typically
________________send
you off with a light
bit
of positiveSome-
____________thing

__right, well tonight i’d
_________prefer
______an expletive
stuck perfectly atop this
_____plumpudding
Ah,

yes
___&now that we’ve
addressed the elephant

might we eat our weight of
__differently organic

ideologies
,&pass the salt,

dear

© 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.

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.

Saturday

i told her
the bed was too soft
&it made my
back hurt

an order was placed
online
&i would have
three to five business days

but i was diagnosed
at an early age&
(she knows this)

still,(she)
felt the cure
for a too-soft mattress

was
memoryfoam
so,

i’m on the bus w/
this sweet
ridiculous
gesture

feeling
awkward

i will write (her) a response
Monday

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

an intercourse

smiling inward thinking
of all definitions for romantic
or
what romantic means in a moment, so
let the mind wander
as it does
rmb’ring what that was when
was younger
-to an older more settled
tired self

funny
guess ill take sm’eat out the freezer
pull the good dishes down&

attempt to lazy spaghetti winebottle

© 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.

triumph

every odyssey begins with
an idea of Self; golden’d in final aquisition
of that so-desired object

spurred by curiosity’s guile,
and rudderless whim, or bitten
by pangs of longing

,or either; adventure’s
thrust upon the unwilling, or contented
to a folly of mischief

in either event a prevailing thought
will emerge
that of home, or of glory

it is not God(or Gods)that reward
this tenacity

it is with tenebral persistence that we
shape dream out of failure

© 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.

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.

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.

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.

power

power’s out
had been for uncountable
hours
impatiently waited
at the window for maintenance
persons
in their un-necessarily talkative
company insignia cover all’s

.nothing.

the other tenants
by various modes
have transported their bodies
to districts still
warmed
in electric hum

impassively, i deliberated
up, and down the barefoot halls

decided by eventuality
that i
might too attempt a local exploration
for a coffee-house
bowl of soup and a seat
to privately ignore Time’s
discouraged
progress

along my slippery way
i searched for houses alive with light
,and finding none
but phantom figures peering back
at me
from their quiet dwellings
did not raise my
spirits

at the top of a hill
where the road bends

i could see clearly
despite the snow that my destination
was unlit
,and employees were politely turning away
expressionless
customers
gainlessly then
i decided my return

seeing none but one man
walking an anemic
toy-breed dog dressed snugly
in a red scarf
the mis-matched pair implied that
dog belonged to wife
and that man was undesirably
doing
chores

evidenced further by
his impatient treatment of the animal
i observed
,and without judgement

imagined self

© 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.

Jewelry in church

it is not for the glamour given
the inexpensive disguised
a convincing re-arrangement
all the material is there, mass
appropriate to density
the hook is the
reaction to the spectacle

illusion real enough to be believed
inverted labyrinth with no center
shattered at the moment of ascension
the true strength of dirt
is in micrometers
the best possessions are truth’s
we are all struggling
for a reciprocated vulnerability 
atomically indistinguishable

a reality perception bends
but can not transform

© 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.

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.

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.

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.

as near as breath

you have no soul
little one
no soul at all
you will know this
when
you are reminded
to mind your shoelaces
at the market
when the yelloweyed ones tell you
to clip your coupons
buy
one
get one half-off
and
to let your cellphone battery drain
completely
once
in a while

and i will see you
and you will see me
grinning
like an October’s Moon
cackling with my murder
of crows
with the Devil inmy handshake
teeth shining like daggers
of ancient typewriters

and you’ll play pretend
but
why don’t you visit?
i send you invitations,
and i host so many events
i know you’ve received them
could it be
my alluring demonic curl
has slept inside you
munching whispers between your walls,
so you dream
reprisals?

don’t look now
your shoelace has come
u
n
d
o
n
e
must you always mistake my sympathy

must you be so obvious?
is it myjob to explain the rules
i never endorsed them,
i never commiserated with your Lord
or decided vendors
i evicted myself from the
mansions of Heaven

and i love it as long as it
destroys you
i’ll turnup a jesters collar
&kick my heels
dancing a wicked knobbly jig
into the sex of midnight
distant

and as near as breath
like the pain of knowing

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.