with the blood of dragons

i am coming to this place
to dwell,
and do nothing

it is no sin, i have had
monuments
to my name

whole worlds&i am tired
of that permissible evil

oh yes,&once
it was only the low&cunning of creatures
that gained their rent from gossip
and silence,

behold our Scions!
[______],our artists
[______]
[______]&clowns
look! whose bones
are ground to feed the unwell

there will be a renaissance
from this
there must
a movement!
for all of this
an Ethos to validate birth

a Gestalt!&gall, sheer and shimmering
each and all i have no sides

need none
to here and peaceably nothing
[______],and these political impersonations

© 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.

a) Graffiti of Polite Society

inwhich identity is
required to match threatened idea of&
self an
effective consumer archetype caricature

mind imagines ambition as constant
or) not typical institution determined :
married employed voting taxpayer graduate
or) anomalous niche fringes :
part-time loner pedestrian drug-addict deliquent

in reality none of this is person
a dependable consistent
anchor
She makes of His wandering an island
teaches He to settle in Her nesting
&there are lawnmower leaf-rake shedShedSheds&
how many obligatory kindnesses, really(?

romantic tablesetting&converse
equitably
violences abate moments&tv trays wrinkle
softness a wither

ofwhich sensitive is
suspect&exhibit in awkward sexual judgement
combative regarding authority illfit to reason
cocksure, immortal

expediently dissolved
ultimately individual

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

Oceans

&of the skyblue
purpled with coral, rainbow’d with fish
social/ in groups
to their elements each darting&hunting
a
lively pristine
forgotten
memories
of Cousteau’s conservationalist messages
bringing attention to
macro-polluting Earth’s birthplaces &t/
disappearing reef-dependant marine animals
we are become desert; hoard of bones
the Life that gathers here
is an evolution of scarcity
a picture of illness
struggling to frontier wasteland

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

Trieb

silly in the trifles
gardening a tender skin
press into the open&
fumble out the words, saying
immaculate, precise
clever(
things)

speaking hands holding eyes
everything is kisses&
all the miles travelled, just
to be so many inches from
fewer&fewer answers to
questions about feeling
to
know(
)she knows

in all the many movements
arranging herself completely&
all the muscles possible
to pluck the silly grown
pulled upon the doors
that open with a secret
,only,
she
gives him

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

l’amour

let’s
with nothing
start

thinning-out, or
spreading

apart
there within a(vaporous
,perhaps,
skin
(?
one ghostly left-behind
of a
living

start
with nothing,
let’s
&grow&grow

as birth plus(+)time suggests

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

pourquoi

whether the micro(macro)/multi -possibles
exist
with all of whatever is or will be

every event contained

however beautiful to imagine
that we
can be in no other place
then where we are

rather that we have been
&always
waiting

to arrive.hands,held,sidebyside
backs to the future
watching
with patience

our struggling past

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

out

out in to it all
thinly float

see for yourself,
words
spelled on a dream
‘s shore

“let it go

a lie is all you keep
this, and this&nothing

follow me

soon the common-kind
will you endure

le sacre du

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

wallflower

walls vibrate with the rhythm
of a wave
eating a constant shore

stripped of the memory of
trees )the in-blown things attract
a fringework of windshape

here:no green snaps&shoots
of idea – only a
percussive drumskin of sky ceiling

echo
manymouthed sounds of shape
&
terrible
terrible
) )people-like things

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

a meditation

a body is a failure&an
inability to resolve it
existence is feeling
corporeal

reality occurs somewhere
to an externalidentityself
we are perpetually losing
&re-acquiring
this
makes a complexity
of simplicity
:life;

nothing but inevitability
is liquid

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

hunger

quiet is all are all(if
exclude the murmuring stomach
‘s)& a twisting of bodies

anticipatory, eagerly
the slack-jawed gathering hush
for a parade of enzymes

a chattering resumes
differently
saluting the soul

© 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.

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.

thought opression

entryway opens with a
bing
the anti-theft scanners
are always there
silent sentry. every
loophole has been accounted for
cameras monitor activity

the subjects stare. in defense
of personal space
some talk out loud
their private wars with
personal oppressors
and
are considered crazy
most do this in their heads

the cashier has an anxious way
of making conversation
is everybody traumatized?
forget
it
just
get what you can while it’s on sale
& try not to think too much
about

freedom

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

not go gently

with Other enabled infirms
on a long track
and labouring along on two feet
leaves a hobbled impression
of One’s self

though the company gathered
a homogeneous collection
of sticks and pinch-sacks
be at peace
with their ultimate tedium

it has not settled or struck
me yet still believing
there is a door

a landmark still withholding
best
kept secrets

© 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.

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.

All of Us

who was the dog laughing
in the nightjars of pollen
trumpeting designs
up at windows

who wore the silks and sang
the shifting sky
into swell for the frogspore
and glister’d jelly

who at the thorned table
ate the goatskull of betrayed
for the low ruin of carnivals
desecrated mind strewn for feedhawks

who with the pocked-eye gleaned
this facile-verse a viper
lamprey mouth trying its jaws
on the equator

who in the suits of hightown
slurped his soup with pretend mimes
feeling the tingle of camaraderie
ejected for jesting trite confessional

who was told the parables
of squarepegs and roundholes
applied this earnest learning
foundered nothing and resentment

who attempted return
to animal kinskin dreaming utopias
only to walk a loneward shuffle
among the tenements of perversion

who trumpeted designs
up at the jars of windows
in the dognight
laughing pollen

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Sagittarius A

this (right here)
is where the
rot begins
the putrescence starts and
burps its way up
the plumbing
the foundations a mound of corpses
it’s no wonder the mould
begins in basements,
bathrooms
,and finds its way down
the clingy hallways
there’s a black hole in the centre
of it
all
its matter permeates galaxies
Scientists found it they said
but have only theorized its impression
on visible objects
and
deep down beneath
the devices of ancient insects
attracted to the vibrations
of our machinery
have their inert vexes set
on our gradual immersion
slowly
slowly
we are all of us falling equally
in to the
fire

© 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.

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.

casual

gobble up the vegetables
placate the stomach
percolate with television
thumb rubbing gut

groan, complain
it’s casual, expected
body language to explain
you’re over-fed

nevermind Churchill
standing at the bulwark
watching the bombers
from below

nevermind Stonewall’s amputated arm
shot by an ally
a devastating loss

change the channel
there’s nothing on
overpriced cable tv dying medium
in the internet age

pay the bills
gas up the car
clip the coupons, complain
it’s casual, expected

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

empty

cobbled heel
shoe leather clack, clack
down paved walkside
the street a vortex of
s i l e n c e
echoes creep up
the facades
as shadows twist
as the preacher passes
clack,
clack,
clack
and the whores emerge now
with their colors and adverts
thorny innerminds are unkept
places
each woman stabs a man
a fantasy he bleeds
eyes roll back
tongue gurgles
she blinks
sees another and smiles
while he

clubs the woman unconscious
with a giant horsecock
rapes her
in the street
blinks
sees another
and dies
morning, noon, and night
they circle eachother like predators
and the children climb on their backs
and whip them
crying of empty pockets

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

February

bitternesses
every-
where
snot rubbed shirt sleeves
hands touch doorknob,
door handle city bus
shopping cart because
it’s not manly,
or sexy
to stuff used kleenex
in pockets, no
the immortal ones say
“I’m not sick, or
“it’s allergies, or
“something from last week
haven’t gotten over. etc”
and kids touch gym equipment
touch eachother
teacher in breakroom w/coffee mug
lips kiss her husband
goodnight
wake up sore throat
congested sinus eyes
and the Sun comes up
and the Sun goes down
and the Earth orbits elliptical,
regardless

© 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.

Red Hat

bellows flare smoke, and rumble
the Machinery of alleyways
deep in the gray-blue shadows glow
brickwork lined with ears and eyes
pigs milk and feed their young
and Sows are born, and born
and die

there is a little Green house
by the Sea, beneath a sycamore
and the surf
crashing barnacle’d spray
silence
falls between Gulls
honking beaks bloodied crab shells
littered beach
smells of walnuts and wood stove soot
I could have lived there with those Ghosts
instead the Zoo
gave birth to me

the magalopoli burn their Tallow-heads
and teach their newborn’s
to Mask Fear, hide fragility
with absent eyes glimmering with
the Monoliths of Commercialdom
waiting to be fed
there are no Hunters here
in the Land of The Opportunistic
grinding generations to bonemeal
under
a chemical sky

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.