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.

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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.