this week in Hell

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

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

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
&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
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

to fall inside
let go. grab hold

once again

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

either changes not the gossamer
of budding flowers

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.


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

manymouthed sounds of shape
) )people-like things

© Emerys Watchel, 2019 All rights reserved.


&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.