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.

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.

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.

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-sidedown(
&all the Jitterbig gives is legs
“&Me,
more me than ive been,

trying to push
my face back in

© 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. “my, what a beautiful

mess we made”

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.