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.

nurture

what to be added
more(?
to the mixture
we

have the parts
of illness

curious meats
&clay
alive with warm
_pulsations

cranial electricity, alight
&vital, ah

but it is not yet
a man
without insensate
sexuality

&will
by eventual process
of
his desires

dream
, blunt
(to be precise)

villainy

© Emerys Watchel, 2021 All rights reserved.

parkingspaces

with the curtains pulled down
the vibrations&
the machinery sounds
might easily
be just
a complicated architecture
of organs
& tissue
that has swallowed-up
a community
of plywood dependent
animals

& the rattle&bump shakes
_the couch
_the floorboards
& chemical smells fumigate
every sq.foot
with the presences of
important looking vehicles

this seems an exaggerated exchange

for clean
visible

parking spaces

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

Me and Everyone else

there aren’t enough hours in a day
for the amount
of sleep
i want

i don’t like schedules
why must i

wear socks without holes
trim my beard
wash my face
brush my teeth three times a day
use medicated acne creams
shake hands
be polite
say yes when the truth is no, or
no when the truth is yes

or remain silent when i have nothing nice
to say

observe (etcetera) etiquette

i would rather burp when i’m full
fart when i’m gassy
&swear
at ____ rotten children

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

redrum

the refrigerator is alive
with
biological smells

when the green
was
greening
grew there in silent
snatches
a thought inbetween a dreaming

Giants.
what about the defeat
&the
inevitable(?

but there will be many
newvictories
before

the decrepit moss becomes
un-bearable

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

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.

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.

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.

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.

from the parapet

in defense of misfortune
argue obvious
foundations of sand

do this; make ready
the sacrifice
&defend

-there will be nothing
spoken of victory in
either event

a gainless memorial
of choice holding a doorway

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

darko

save it(…)Summer’s
gone
&baked as bread sweet-
fresh
while able hands a ravening

fill jars with
earth

you’ll want a little
for your tooth
when
time walking-backwards

catches
those

long ears

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 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.

scotopia

the hours when shadow sets its keening
&setting bends the redding
lowering
light

let come heavy-headed necks of flowers
nodding a steady blaining,inward
eyes
crushed petals

welcome noxious slumber

a stranger into the midden
of each inter-
solitarium

to calibrate the machinery of
time

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

repeat

with a swiftness&
a movement
cast
aside the vessel, breathe
in-
to
form. liquid interior/”the,”
is
it-self a closenessofSound
full
in the ears

expirating lung
controlled slow
&
contemplative meditation

candle doused to be relit
with

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

remember

i thought about trifling some
romantical flippancy -a moment ripe
when gentler tones
do not abide this brutal present-tense

what a fist takes of touch
differently(the anxiety of being lost
or silenced by
that frenzying need to be first, be

it is not
an evening slow
when summer simmers low,and the clouds abide
a wide and starlit sky
the insects all

bring forth the firefly
)though, that is close

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

oubliette

it(has)been since Mar 1st/10
&i will nvr4get
the countryside
tht
Old House
(probably condemned now
the ghosts that i had
met there
heart+mind open beneath an
in-pouring night

it’s funny – now
surrounded by so many
yet
feeling alone in a full

room

the dense ruckus ofwhich makes
a silence
ofitsown

© 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.

catharsis

wreckage is stories
:a collection of&
mangled into unfinished
snips
arranged,shattered reattached

now mass unrecognizable
from origin

the sore edges sting
forever
forever until
a compression gooily lumps the former
to a new digestible

by whichever can adopt
absorb

re-purpose

© 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.

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.

the

around, and around
wanderingwaiting for
dark that comes like a
closing door

there is a name
other than any spoken there
time will tell clicking&
spilling its lightlong wall
and descending stair

it comes in grasps
cold and catching
thinly fitting the weight of breath
all on a spun
and tumble scratching
for a scream

unbutton Night’s suffocating let
air in and
starry
the nauseating senses

circle repeats around
and around withoutrelief:

in the corner an addict chokes
on a tongue&a
fox chases one relentless tail

© 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.

blank

alright i’ll show you
once again the trick
is to be mindful
of position respective to light
life
seemingly will move
as if commanded
then i watched as she
with an expression of delight
suggesting wondrous manifestation
moved the imagined
and i saw only
hands in silhouette
before
the canvas

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

better

have un-screwed the shelves my
emotional bric-a-brac now warms
the floor register
yes this
generic metaphor unmantled have,
i
grown to a -morphosed fly
from maggot. This is the way
of salt-cured wounds
fail
learn
,fail better

found a lipstick’d wineglass you
forgot to mention

yesterday

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

hello

hello happens with a fold
in space
i see myself in a future
minute
near enough for touching
to be held
by you, “Hello,”

and everything seems to still
a moment theorized by time
-travellers(our unity
has deleted past-possibles
,and created
new-probabilities)

romance,
in an instant twines its roots
around our bodies
the surrender and the resistance
is a force
mistaken for fate
if but to conclude:
an irrational reality has
within it actual consequence

then your two feet, and mine,
have stumbled
getting here (in that each stumble was)
an unseen fortune
waiting to present itself
as our steps finally
met

reliving the new, and wonderfully-new
is as human an event as anything
but all the clocks are ticking
time will arrive
with differential speed
the dreaming done it must be
decided (by every name including
relationship) where

going with this are we
now as two
with the world at a doorstep

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

another

where the hard truth won’t
spare
even
as a known no glimmering in
the metaphorical dark can offer out
where, how

is this place? (a room
a box in the imagination (?)
light switch only clarifies the
cage

what to make of positivity
a painted door/ the idea
of an optional escape
from
the here and now
a reflection waiting for a face

un-
touched by the dust-trails of this
influence
another memory to hunt

© 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.

make again

when found begins
freshthumb explored dis
-covered naval

all within alight with
eyes and probes sear
-ching New &nothingNew&
dies

creator then decides

let inhabit whisper
-ing,ghosts(or make
again of tumblestuff
alive

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

loved

loved on the way excited to the space
that voice holds anxiously to a name playing
you and you and you spritely at the spoken
carries like a flicker in the skin
exposed what had sharpened tooth to bone

almost floating over the weatherwet pavements
when found forgotten how had feet kept step
to that dance of faces drained the morrow
sped increasing comfortable gestures fall
a curl upon the slowly letting in

finger traced a flower wreathing ribbon
shared between sounds of mouthed release
caution care fragility dares a telling
stories move fires in phantom hearths
ghostly settled dust a bittered flavour
curse laid on the bridge between two rooms

forgiven repeated forgiven a larger sphere
reveals a path away and to the all
kindle renewed want a breathing closer
to decorate cathedral’d rook and stone
streams a trickle hearts a beating river
real is truer than what touch can spell

without guile or need to secret knowledge
upon once a child remembered planting
seeds the armoured towers in age we wore
contempt would rust familiar to the loathe

retreat to self neglected by the bruise
to reinforce defending mutual interest
this is owed to eating more than given
dried the garden wildly overgrown

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

us or them

wasn’t difficult to say
it means more now to hear
once those three words first trembled

i watched
and a mouth moved to speak them
a face waited to hear them returned

this is the excitement what follows
a struggle to keep them first,
and last

everything was happening as it should
and never occurred that we
were acting out roles

,man and woman, trying
a simple knot to keep
what was invented for us to maintain

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Poem

that comfort blanket
searched for that warm
undying light

that knows and pains and
sympathizes hardships
for the beauty of willing

it reminds the webs to be
spun again where
the garden grows greenest

where the shadows taste of
deeper darknesses
braying like a beast

beneath the fisher moon
consoling the shores of dream
humming an odd-remembered song

it is in the trees of benches
in the untrod snow like a sheet
of music waiting for fingers

for a voice

© 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.

a naïve and dying thing

i remember the distant
sounds of coughing
ears going in
,and out
mind ws’in ajar thrown
to a hy
-drogen maze

arms lank at my sides
palms turned up
head tilted deep breaths
walking
like fall
ing
somehow i found my way
home
to bed. last night’s reverie
a fragmented remembrance
never to return
complete

cornflakes. milk 1%
crispy
in the yellow morning clean
bowl
spoon
sink
breakfast puzzl
_______________es
fuck, __________ ?
i must be living in someone else’s
house

© 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.

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.

The Stanford Prison Experiment

this blank page
you’re waiting for me
to fill up
with words,
with the presence of idea
for
me
to expound, divulge
create romantic scenario
arrive at a subtle dramatic
metaphor

to tell you
a tree
is more than a tree
and lie about the spiritual
nature
of mountainborne rivers
and the corpses of swamps
magic circles, all
halos of crows
the dying circumstance
of spring

to expose
a bit of beautiful symmetry
a slip of hipbone, skin
tissue dressed skeleton
a fragile
wily spirit to bend and turn
like a leaf of paper
a supplicant that can not exist
without you exploring the walls of my
surface with a finger-
a judgement

have i served the function
of curiosity
has your identity,
my identity,
the identity of words
been sufficiently put to the fire
of question
is it ever deep enough
is there a further plane
to be pushed to
beneath

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Libra

beaming
bright behind closed eyelids
illuminating columns of dust
this
inanimate space,
this megalithic hollow with synth-
etic interior decor, at once
seems as ancient as
time

with shadow; light
with light: shadow
inseparate,
paradoxically equal

i am a face and a name
where the silence surrounds my head
disembodied
hands probe walls, feet
reach tentatively, i
am an idea
and a thot

the shadow, and void
through which this illumination
plunge’d, by which this light
intensifies
seems vacant, yet
with a cosmology
of person

darkness envelopes sound
feet shuffle,
lungs, heart, echo bounces
a reverb with clarity
starts the eyes
leaping
mind: a frightened playground of
impossible creatures

feet flattening the dust of millennia
whole cities of microbes
giant
and
insect, entering the earth
as comets
set fire to the sky beyond
with galaxies of their own

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Valdez’s Donkey

i adore the scent
of her bloom
it’s a presence that remains
after her spidery thing
of love
it makes the ridiculousness of
her profile
more endearing
tho
when
(as she does)
troop in pallet, after pallet
after pallet
a serrated line of antique
intricacy
aimed at me, and sets the walls
of her moat afire
that ridiculousness is less so,
and more-so
endearing

her, with reinforced walls
and unassailable
phantoms
wait
for me to parley
to approach silver armored,
pearl horsed, raised white flag
and present a token of trust
:her tincture
unwashed from the nape
of my waist

and this is insanity, i insist
in cold-rooms
wrapped in her web
…madness”
then a trumpet sounds
in the courtyard
and once more i
am evicted
to brave a storm
co-created

,out to the desolate border
turn
hungry, reinvigorated
sword ready

© 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.

living together

& that’s what we’ll do
cut the body up
portion out meat for each-
other to chew
i’ll work on this
you work on that
take a piece of kidney
lung
leave me the heart
and we’ll work our way up
to the eyes and brain
naming each bit as we go
ignore the spirit
it has no body
and we can finish
sit down
cross our legs
and make war with other
beasts

© 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.

the door

there’s a break in the
wall
a crack in the
door
a baby cries in another room
a child stomps its feet
the device in my hands
replaces my identity
with its own
what is
and what is not
actual

a familiar voice speaks
to me with memories of time
and in these reminiscences i return
a past left behind
re-collected

a room destroyed another
reimagined

i remember
i reanimate settled dust
i disintegrate
and imagine a different tomorrow
tonight
with you
and the baby cries
and the child plays on the floor
and we make love
by our own light
in the
dark

as society has for centuries
as lovers have
always
a part of it all
a part of it all
and
disappear

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Give Something

it comes down to this
once more
convictions and principles met
clean hands washed muddy
high horse pastured, lame
the creditors are at the
door
something’s gotta’
give

where in all the noise
are you?
i know your number, say your name
there’s no reprieve
yet we pretend
dance a little circle
shaky, solid ground
and it comes
to this
react, interpret, defend

if there’s a way through this
it’s through the fire
falling on the
sword
am i the Man from La Mancha?
_____am i anxiety, storm, and ire
_____lashing at phantoms
_____stabbing at shadows
truly, is this my only device?
for want i love
for love am damned
to run

into, and away
from

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Preen

i
hate the way you
preen, not un-like
a freshly tongue-bathed cat
yawns and droops a heavy head
momentarily regal
admired beyond the audience
in front of a sun-warmed
vacant window

or, a gargoyle
crookedly crouching
scowling a monotone
of un-spoken words
tension
in the wrists of shoulders
chin pointed
out
with a curse

or, dappled
sleepy in your morning
flowerbed
smelling of spring pollen
and sex, rolling naked
on your side
thigh, over thigh
hands searching thin-air
for a huggable pillow
while
you mewl out vowels
,and sigh feeling lusty
yes, you know
without looking
– you are adored

wicked thing

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

My Imperfect

what thunder comes what
hooves, what
troubled trumpet!
one minute more,
one inch more
one slow, degrading slide
one moment more
dearly, deeply
grunted

begone old Time, begone
thine visage haunted!
scrapes this devil’d cerebellum
with a howl
from out that monstrous grin
a gnarled sober
crawls a scab of shade
bereft of
scowl

i am my own destroyer,
i am my storm
i rip my sails and fill
my oars
with song
O Pride, O Pride!
hath lent me but a gimbal
and from that vaunted precipice
i decline

may stinted mornings
bend
to me their Gold

may joy in destitution
gird my rudder

for i lay low and steady
to this course
and ask for none, save
my
imperfect source

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Death

gull mopes a wormy yawn
at the toothy wind
salt spray sea-wash
in the sand of a riven eye

clouds part the oppressive blue
and light retreats
beneath the gray-bellied
rain fat ready sky

the tufted grass all bends
a bristle stroke
and their petals flower
the colorless expanse

kingdom of the hunter gull
and his hosted guests
dry in the stinking heat
of an ancient grasp

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

thistle in the sweet

bothersome thorn
mark missed still struck dead
a breath unnamed
failure, once again

bled and turned
fits re-worn, holes now
in them shirtsleeves
chewed the apple’s worm

useless spells, fall unused
at the shore of wind-whipped wave
i stirred the break
and with anger set the foam

to spite her calming eyes
the soft tingle of her touch
i ate the flesh
snarling with disgust

but the knowing leaves
fumbled dry in decay
what once was green
a husk of moth flown into flame

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

la vie d’un poète

days when the gallant hooves go trumpeting
to the night
rain fills buckets and sheets stick
with delirium

the head goes bumping, and bumping
an inner scratch
and all the circles stay unbroken
despite the drum

an apology works its crow-beak
on the brain
from out that echo a storm beats
with a flare

nostrils throttle and throat creaks
out a snare
a howling cry emerges
from the pain

nights when the gallant lie
before the dawn
tears fumble like a poets fingers
for an egg
and the broken one rejoinders
with a song

reach out a steady hand
and feel again

© 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.