lie

the truth about privacy
is
that it is desired
by intimately curious
(in this case) la femme
a translation is proposed
to wit
for the item:Secrets,
1 token access pending performance review
providing(ofc)vulnerability is not man-handled

though

i have a growing suspicion that she w a n t s
her secret laid bare
“isn’t that why you’re here(?
the grandeur, the
being a more-impossible constellation
of parts(… ”
anonymous contribution to
&oh, the littlest bit
of spectacle(?”

this is the waited for

ask me
____this,
i love you
____push me

____make me feel
deniable

completely and freely continue to
&

© 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.

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.

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-side-down(
&all the Jitterbug gives is legs
“&Me,
more me than ive been,

trying to push
my face back in

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

H

went with all of the ancient felt
possibly to that space
waited, i

“you see,
they keep all them cardiologymachines
on a separate floor”

with the ideas of trees&of birds
&chairs quiet with magazines
shuffling people
actually old
only
young&stupid me in the Golf&Fishing digests
,a puzzle
to one elderly woman attached fixedly to
her wheelchair&(a sentence wordlessly shared
–  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  -over the subject of my untied shoelace
what happenstance my being there

aglets clicking loudly on the tile

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

pond

you wanted me i think not
to panic
listening to your tone
how could, so calm
you(? or was it
for my sake
in spite of yourself
equally
alive
with anxious vibrations
surface deep

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

deeper than a dream within a dream

an idea of ourselves
interpreted
by the reflections of other ideas

Poe could have said

consciousness creates reality, though not freely
it is guided by the realities
of other consciousnesses

which should mean that this whole thing
could be undone
if one could imagine a here, without
the idea of here inhabiting it

with all
that we see, or seem

© 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.

OctoberRed

come back to me
breathing mountains in
the skin of raindrops
&
those welcoming sunset-reds

let, from their peaks, the waters
and rivers, come
as grass beneath the toes
&bees,bees, fidgeting the busy flowers

let fall your hair about my face
as a mist, laboured
with the heavy scent of summer

rake my branches
&
empty to again be filled with
color&the sounds of loving

you

© 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.

unlikely Hero

idea-saturated economies

overwhelmed internal mechanism

capricious emotional response
i think i’m ready
to disappear

seriously dreaming

where was i going
to be
in all of this(?

too much
&battling that wagered statement
:a “giving up”

knowing i will rise again to kill
the despot, feed him&
twart the revolitionary.This

is My tail-chasing circle

© 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.

formulae for time

the worst of it
is the going, after
&a transplant
retain’d memories with
of
left-behind limbs

testament to struggle

find me now this vial!
slender trapping
to dispel
&
be otherwise dispossessed
externality

not withering, will be
or a fading such
&
lengthening of night
no.

it will be we”
sat in the drum
upbraiding racket

caught by the cookie-jar
insane-ly
&
irrelevant
going before

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

mulberry bushes

a piece of it gets inside
&You are a believer
making gestures for sentiments
following collision

)tender parts heal
as well as intentions, yet
“sometimes things happen for a reason(
&if
are altered, Not ended
what comes then of
that
person exchanged

what of collisions romantic
the same, non? there is wreckage
tendernesses
e n d i n g s

but this
is not tragic
it is
explained

everyone, become platonic fishermen! with
their descriptions
&
cynical. you will find it
where you left it waiting
for
a
decision
who, what
are, is a possession does
not need to belong, it is
&
as its nature; a cage
to a finale
commensurate ash hoped
to be more than measurable distinction
somehow
just a bit of the Great Wisdom

ours
&
ours

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

qu’est-ce que c’est?

when there are nomore
tomorrow’s
&every available lie has been
let
,like so many balloons(
a d r i f t & )
neighbourhoods&neighbourhoodsbetween
a you, a me there

forgetting faces
it will come

that dreamed of day when
all collisions
have of sacrifice a little breathing
wish”
i would say, “wishing has (we knew
the dangers of that place
had hooks
been cast
still
into that torment go and grew

for a somewhere Sun
that
never sets

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

there

all of that existence, swollen sure&
gone
a balloon’s popping

heaven and the heart feels
light
for all what swimming did
on the edges feather lifted
)’s
air and the kissings
her
said”all that’s gold is green

when the new is newing
&
true
spare us absence,he said

there&here”

© 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.

ee cummings

and so he walked the streets
falling in love with the people
that he met

this is a remembering self
a passionate tolerance

being shaped by and shaping
consider any witness to experience
perhaps it was the flower in her hair
made ironic
by

a tendency toward nudity

and so he mused

a so-delicately described admiration
masking
the horror beneath
where the audience finds
a truth about what is imagined

there are no secrets

© 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.

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.

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.

giddying little sorrow

for any of this(these)to be
more
than just impermanence
onedesire must, above all others glow
more
brilliantly

That! the light by which we guide
our instrument
That! future to which we cast
our(near&wanting)-selves

for fantasy be.made.real
(more)
This! or less;that vessels girded
with semi-precious wishes, only

and minor victories of chance-value
-a lusterless trinket
),be

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

Onward,

&by imagining each disaster
possible,each
changing detail

can we
trace an accuracy of steps
back to our present
fumbling navigations

keeping sacred our virtues,and silent
ward against the wildness

purest drop of remedy white
singular.magic
mute
before a cacophonous sea
of other droplets

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

Joust

seems a prize for all
the grooming
x’s & o’s.Her.
wants a vacancy occupied.i
.(impeccably intentioned) totter
at the plummet
hamstrung by antiquated(possibly)not
-ions
whether ventured or not nothing is
something

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

Fleisch

eclipsed by the consuming
waters
the once proud seafarer submits
to eternal
inevitability

endowed
by the hands that made her
with every enchantment, and superstition
in foreknowing the navigable mysterious
ahead and on all sides

by the belief in her radiance, guided
and fell

fodder for invaders

© 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.

Give

of exhaustible thought energy
self
ish
ly
even as we never think of our selves
as self “ish”
,or that we give without expecting transactional
return

which is a lie

the moment when natural growth was
inhibited by civilization’s prudence,
the simplicity of the animal kingdom
had been lost

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

asleep, routine

…exigencies
,or perhaps the Great Procrastinator in
me shirks demand i have
difficulty relating to
what Webster’s defines as
“pressing need”

this is a hunger, i think
a situation calling for immediate action

routinely asleep
and dreaming better Unicorns

© 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.

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.

bastion

a portion
of defensible balustrade still managing
to offer sanctuary
despite the crumble

portage, and parapet
from which a survey might be conducted
,a plan devised,
or safety assured

when used co-junctively with
l a s t
;hopelessness underpins the archic texture
of a lone citadel, gleamed in a fading light
enough still to contrast
a desolate scape

she, and her words betraying no desperation,
gestures toward the perceived
beacon conjured
this is the importance of things
this
is the power of words

i see what it is and the translation creates
communicatedimage
my response: a carefully constructed proposal that love
inhabits all,
hinges on the pivot

where i wait to intercept response

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

her body

despite
attempts to hide it
she needs
almost presumably, beyond
recognizable flaws
to be seen -less than un-attainable
more than
simply human

;desired.
with even her detached appreciation
for what could be described as
imprisonment

within,

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

co-

who had never for a balance
spoken(?
there we,
there was
begin
words fit neatly
for their functions(& a sentence
gathers
building to a point
should
all let fall&leaveslayclutter
stumble shoes
pieces of unfinished steps

begin “yes,
the hinges hold the door upon its frame
which hangs
this way
,and that
see”? a room beyond and rooms
connect to mutual
interactive steps.two pairs.go walking
there we,
there were

again.

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 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.

you people

what(be
-cause invited i sit
my thousand poems
cushioned neatly underneath
&converse
that not a madman here is
battling constant inhabitation
you
dreamily
exfoliate charms
in an obvious attempt at at-
tention

baiting a lengthy(albeit perfundant)
verbose
epic
ignored, politely stir my tea
no thanksyes please

the crust of bread is fine

© 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.

black rose

would we
as children, recognize
each other

did not then know what
for looking was, i

a reason?)in these
forests, in sweetsmelling
streams –
turning to footfalls
in spring frost, see

a dream for a thing different
than any other
grown
to its natural

,or in itself despairing
singular
beauty

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

barefoot in the yard

i
adore cemeteries though
seldom speak
of them outside of metaphors

or
trying to preserve the features
of her memory
in a country house
delicates on the laundryline
cat
licking songbird from its paws
belly sun warmed
in the grass

attic full of empty boxes stuffed
with forgetting, do you imagine
as i do
she humms to herself
a thing like a rhyme
remembered
barefoot
in the yard

between the clothespegs
there
in all the textures of
an instant

without fading

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

living and dying

destroyed
when recreated waiting
hammock afternoons
no
bugnets catching
rainbows no storms, no
heavy
books&musty dust
i have in many
leafs
of paper pencil shavings
crumpled ideas
wrinkled elbows

history told
in desk topographies
staring
down
the horizon destroyed

waiting

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

there

there will be a panic
a mystery unresolved, pain
tugging at threads of the

unseen. a fear of going
beyond the border of return
there will be doors

of moments, windows of interaction
closing opening, or
the reverse is not a guarantee

you will be tested. the end
will event itself in an
obvious fashion. made clear when

time will allow a retrospective view.
there will be an emptiness
to be filled, a wound

replaced. an addiction
in the form of an escape. there
will be lies, you will tell

them to
yourself

© 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.

shared

for a little bit of meat
pot boiled rice
a green-hearted vegetable

i would trade this un-fed body
dance, my white-bellied dance
naked as a moonbeam

for an encore of bread crust
recite fire-side incanto’s
of ancient magical property

for a moment let the dragons in my mind
spread their wings that yours
may give colour and receive them

for the prospect of a recognition
eyes and eyes locked, lost
in the portals between possibility

i would trade this self of mine
an idea kept, longer than needed
if one, a you, could see yours completely

hinge this starving tired
to the slow rising stomach of a breath
following shared dreams

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

still want

remember always a some
thing wanted, I
what that was or changeschange)s
less now
older
but
then ask
what
am i doing in this room
?
still

excuses to personsuit&walk
my wear
streets of people imitating self
for a dreamer un-dreamed
see-
king an un-initiate to def
-lower
barter over cost the best
parts of anatomy my
most alluring
brain
i hope,pants

off.conversation terribly feel
s a streetfight like drag
-ged backalleyscared words.my
words
talking/acting never
come out, come across
shame to meet
an
awkward IDK
what is a man expected
to, why

i love have loved met love
can cry
remember connected being a
he&she
hair on pillow mused skin
perfumed delicate thin
-gs.sounds.
&eyes!
how cld i forget ?ever
staring back
at mine or trying not
to smile

she am now have not me
i do
again and want to

try

© 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.

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.

feat et dore

where is the eye my apple spied
the tell and air o leaf tall thrust

imagined, image a lover lair’d
sped or spared in given light

when was might a losing trust
or infinity’s all a gone or gain

fountain well pillory’d stair a crumble
o’er the edge a sinking in dust

what possibility the worm at my ear
whispering tones a faint undying

trying and trying the frameless aware
empty the quiver of arrowshot night

why a rewinding, retying of shoes
gravity’s gift a following pain

lost and again thrown to flight
remember a life un-gambled is used

who, and who lostlove the simple
have and be had a liarless flame

feather exposed to the lick of a cry
more worthy than my unbeautiful lust

© 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.

Giant

i first met you
in a late adolescent
vision spun for dreamyhead
a presence of tormenting
this
the future me would reflect on
curious

no name, until i named you
Mine
on those summer nights
when the sun crept low,
and long
following your skirt pleats
up that staircase
you cast a subtle glance
over your shoulder i ignored
tranced
by the revealing
and disappearing shock
of panty white cotton
up the dusty slant-light
and intermittent shade

you smelled of danger
and uneclipsable knowledge
the things you knew
destroyed
with a sublimating transform
held in your powerful talons
though you kept the secret of flight
i was a giant
in the momentary magic
there transferred

imagine
the continents crushed between my toes
the worlds created between my thumb
and forefinger
tracing close breath
a warm line
of saliva wet mouth
squeeze and nibble
with a naturalness we didn’t learn
in books

i was bitten by a curse
to pursue
this moment again
in others
as a prototype reenacted
and those stories ended the same
with an inclination to hate you
but
i only see my giddy self
chasing fictions
with a time-worn net

© 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.

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.

,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.

almost positive

spring is coming
in the slow elliptic way of
a rotating planet
spells of warmer days
mixed with cold
Canadians are social almanacs
“nice weather we’re having
translation:
don’t mistake my sunny disposition
as an invite to my weekend BBQ
better than yesterday”
: i prefer the friends i have, thanks
we all end up looking
like euro-ukrainians
maybe it’s the local packing plant
or spring long
weekend roadside donut stands
i can smell downtown from here
in a memory of streetsweeper city cleanup
they put a petting zoo right there
on main street
you’d think that’s a metaphor
but i’m being literal
Mellencamp came to town one time
or was it Bryan Adams
and the beer gardens will fill
leaving the evidences of disposable incomes
for the city workers
and the vendors of dubious asian descendants
will leave for their casino’s in the east
before our summer
and it’s only march

i explore the snowscraped parking lot outside
looking for dancers

© 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.

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.

eat of my flesh

flown the wind gone grain
dust grape
spider dew web
spun long with a prick of leaf stuck
in the Moon’s eye corner, time time
waits for Autumn’s crisp
departure
slow into the quick of snow

beneath the Summer lathe
wrung dry
drum-skin beard of night sleeps
the green fuse
kiss of light, life life
beats indefatigable glowing growth
lapping waves from Eden’s heath
break the shore

whisker of rebirth
tweaking Death’s red nose rubbing
the skeleton Earth meat
on the cross teeth speak jaws
of kingdoms
won and lost it’s all here
now, now

and the scryer’s fingers probe

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

voir dire

never, and never my love flown far
and near
wades in the gristle’d glade
of goose gone lakes afire
in teeth of the jawbone hungry damned
eat, and eat they sworl
in the shark-blood torrent finned
thirst for the de-flowered fuse,
and die

her lust-light charms
attract
the snake-head poison grown
they wield the sword, mere claimants
to the stone-cold throne
inspired
for no gold they own, but the glint
of the eyes of liars
ever, and ever my love flown arrow
and bow

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

captivated

fragile slip of frost
on dew-back’d leaf melt bead
tickles along the spine rib blades
of her silhouette

as Eve might
have reached an armlong hand above head
at that mysterious
gleam of fruit-skin naked
in her garden

too perfect, the pale of her
and i watch that timeless moment
captivated

© 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.