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.

water for Dinosaurs

educated in echo chambers
the envy
of political café hats
speaking up-to-the-minute journalism factuals
you
whom i despise
for possessing energetic reserves&
functional world-interest
active on social platforms
quoting capitol affairs fr/a litany of names

seems like an anger unrequited
&how dare i characterize thin-skin
&rude to confuse attention w/ ignorance
from my irrelevant station raised
on superstitious magic
back-woods hollisticism a
prolific meat-eater encouraged to dream utopias

what have i but criticisms
and pocketfuls of foreign esoteric currency(?

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

springcleaning

defoliate the furniture
ruffle all the linens&
under the legs of tables
featherout the webs
discover new old spiders
messyup the settled dust
busy as brooms, choking
old in the open room
particulates floating visible&let
the light fold in. “say, and my what a beautiful

mess we made”

© 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.

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.

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.

think am therefore, I

sweet, wet morning subtle haze
trussed up fussy from
the trashcan of sleep to stumble

and all the palenques of cockcrow
rooster’y metaphors barking
at upside-down night

colorset bleary&screwed
gristled in the creaky of ageing
carafe, spoon coffee habitues

&to stare, finally dumb from
the maddening continual reportage

drumskin of everyday beating
beating&ears go seeking softly pillows

© Emerys Watchel, 2020 All rights reserved.

Something borrowed

by whichever avenues
met&
in that expense,extravagant
;a compromise
went not a frugal reason

lifted beyond the means of reality
by a romance felt
&now all are as strangers
to that singular
,interior space

asking that poor of poor
might charity, well

take this lozenge
what ill it will heal
beggar
& be bothersome about its
meaning

“is it not given freely’?(
…)what difference actual generosity
“were you not taken by need,
so asked”)?

it is no filthier now

than we are takers

© 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.

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.

entre nous

let us of(then)
-the touching ;speak
i
would name the tips
&reaching want a curiosity
O, nothing is unknown
that is
anticipated

to name(then)what
predatorial advances(?
a daring to creep innocent
per-chances,

speak one “yes,
-one yes.remove&awkwardly
into a different pleasure
grip
for all what torture kept
had eaten out the heart

of it
&
cease
rythm slows to stealing

each from each

© 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.

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.

Sept

it has(as of last-night
uncountable millions of flakes)begun
to&blanket the everything
with

a wet mess this
first weeks of motorists misunderstanding
canadian winter

the change is actual
not metaphorical, there is science
in the slowed arrangement of molecules
;hexagonal crystals

it is happening even now(
hear sirens wailing over caution tape
can you?)

September is a tease

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

in

what if(? -you)assured that i
knew for me what was&what wasn’t
that this
methodology/reasoning 4moi)made sense
wld yu

let me alone?discover
if was right, i

trying constantly to get in
aren’t you

problems with locked doors

© 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.

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.

this week in Hell

gird thyself&wade
the hallow places, look
they come(!

’tis the morning light they drink
in a fellowship of rafters
stumblebum

to the evening sow the downs

lay what last
fitly sleep

&dream the seraphim made them weep

His ab is a gold rib
and the lice
are licking faith

“oh kill,
oh kill all mercies for their sake”

were there, were are
now
&thusly swore there from
there will always be

a sword
to fall upon

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

small minutes

somewhere in MeSpace,I
am a fumbling yarnball
trying
truly
or,
telling self such stories
convincing a

oh, there are dependencies
towhich i can’t relate
herenow noose-tying.right?)
but a surrendering

more rewarding more
difficult

to fall inside
let go. grab hold

once again

pain
is an effort of living. i tell
theseselves, or
emotions are the effort of pain
keep simple what is
&breathebreathe.breathe

either changes not the gossamer
of budding flowers

© 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.

skin2skin

&so you come in
flourishing gestures as your

familiar impressions retreat
to an internal architecture while

on the surface !)alive
with irritated projections

looking but finding only glimpses, i
respond inspiring calm

as is why you came with your disguises
that i(practicing love), disarm

© 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.

heart

she said”you arewhat you
are.” to a stunned, i
well
if this is true then every-
thing.every fought-for
refused for, insisted on(lengthened tooth&
&wordsexchangedinanger(instantly-grayed for
defending
thing, a:

forgettable transform
of clumsy origami, or

easily now so distant
looking upon

ignorant curls of dust
remembered differently&
by no one

© 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.

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.

Cormorant

seizing upon hunted
delighting in the(e
devoured
belief
in a selfprovidence
and
worse offenses
,sure

,a reality with this evidence
as foundation

breaking surface gambol
forever
altering permissive

a guiltless suffering

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.

abuse

is as i have suspected
:an interruption,a
course correction”
love- even when well-meant is
it would hurt
me
to see you (fumble&stumble about
so.much.so that i must
interject myself into your
logical spheres
tying unconnected ends together&
sweeping up unnecessaries

) )there)

all is arranged according to my
designimperfect
listen, beloved

© 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.

&

because the essence of human existence
should be liquified in metaphor
that
Time’s immutable drum be deafened
song and story be

and language

© 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.

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.

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.

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.

anthropoids

i’m already over it itwas
day(s)ago,but
since you asked

this guy(this
that seems altogether charming,al
-together singular
he,he)is
a potato

agreeing on the wise
against inclination
not disagreeable
of a sort that
mind’s his own mind

to be liked,or thought like
-able he wants(wants&
that inthat should not
give trust
completely

to he(he)you
are an opponent

to be absorbed
&mimicked,

mannerism copied,tone&gesture&
philosophical persuasion
you(poor little you)will
see a likeminded, he(he) will
earn what he did not
work for

friend

© 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.

Push

there is a place
inside
where hinges
the space under the door
itself is shadow
a personal interest in perception
makes of the visible
intruders
faces of voices a mothprint
spark upon the shade

the dying in the doom
a slow unravel
setting the mortar between the stone
of hard-won space
assurity to be defined
a might won by conflict
all the hands of clocks
point to the tower’d
monolith of flameflesh
upsprung sword

words wring poison out of bladders
or armored defenses wrist the cuts
eternities of argument
bar all passages
the way out is through
a papered-over frame
of letters written, rewritten
for love: a hate eternally afire
and gloom lay rheumy
underpinned
for all a want gone
nobly as the flower

for this a push crawls inward-out
saddened eyes mask a fearing stammer
one foot wrong
cost the magic cast
so delicate the weight
of tear-spent words
strengthening reciprocal transmitted
boldly, but caution constant needy sounds
when all is right embrace is there ensured
though should they not
the snare’s
a rosethorn for the stumble

© 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.

About dust

I suppose I could transcribe
these thoughts
or watch
this shadow crawl it’s way
across the geography of my ceiling 
is it a beetle, a moth?
trundling along-with its manylegged

inspection
 
what could be so fascinating
about dust?

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

I look and a Shadow looks through me

i’m going down to lie again
cushioned on the foam of gutter yeast
bit by the sighs of West,
and Southern end
with hands full of silver stolen from the night
my mind’s a puzzle softened in the wend
when all’s a dry tongue thickened with delight

i run to her, and carve again
a horn from out this cancerous lung
a tax my marrow pays
the debt of holes
that i may blow through it a charmsong sung
to warm the winter maid alarm bright coals
a lure to dangle the blight and rotted from

I went to town to feed again
and found a carcass marbled on the heap
within its meaty tunnel
market stores
of seashell combs, and dresses from the deep
i in the tower ate, and mused the more
and thrice removed a splinter from my cheek

© 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.