rogue

how long have these riverbanks stood
supporting the city machinery
spiriting expoused discards, and
flow’d darker in the dreary

how unaltered these millennia had
bison calves ranged in the wheat
died by thousands, forgotten and
added to the drainage of factories

was the water blue from shore to stone
had the geese of greater lizard nests
lined on the margin long, and lone
admiring sunsets colorless

this is not for mourning, or political rattle
all will change whether and while we weep
,more to while time and ease The on
song for a loth and wounded animal

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

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thief

why should i not
do this forever
”this,
beginning with a breath
foundation of thought
shaping the words to fit the image
molding clay
and “in each dying and renewing day,
describe these gryphons of periphery”

twisted figures un-complete
the grotesque masks we all wear, must
we (yes we) forcing out the caldera’s top
the vibration of will, and
the friction
of dust

,and sexual surrender
ah,
arbor in the deep
escape from the wild, dispassionate mob
why should i
not
steal and be stolen from, and call this
”a living,” not
a muggers jape

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

conjurer

long after the cauldron bubbled boils
long even after its contents
burn and black
its resin a madness scraping turn
she says “try not
to trouble yourself with that

would that she knew a fountain therein urned
reprieve from the world
that broke a burdened wing
that all-delighting, consummating spur
no more can sicken such a poisoned thing

so in circles, magic’d with a curse
i place the intricate levels of my thirst

and again remember Scorpio’s lovely sting
bites the hand that does the offering

© 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

i sit at home and write again
to lose my pale and tooth-marked easy skin
a ritual of paths
i’ve walked before
within the smoke of imaginary sin
before the mind trembling at the door
the Eye waits for me, but never lets me in

© 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
of the court
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.

Noctambule

after the day has died
and the light winnows
into birdsong heat
the flight
of the indolent pale

Give us stars!
spread the thinning veil
broom the hearty wind
and dust the anvils
Let the cold come in!

shudder and stone
when the Hello’s have all
worn out
now off to their beds
these old slippers
whisper ‘cross the boards
like
forgotten dead

© 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.