Posted on

WHEN

 

wayworn traveler –

stuffed w / excrement dripping

off crushed dreams waking failures clinging

like malignant stalked barnacles /

huge flotsam in brackish liquid

of chances deferred

thru unending emotional whirligigs –

contempt useless

as rotting plaster

falling from the ceiling

in a home broken by hate

 

O chimera chimera chimera –

real or not real / burden or mere beast

do I inveigle

your pisspoor ass w / my colors

my rhythms

my words

– tell me thus

insidious putrid curse

of NOT /

bane of my ways

bane of days

bane of night

 

 

copyright 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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About a. edward watkins

With the exception of 2 years study of western music theory and harmony- I am a self taught percussionist, writer and abstract painter. Not your drummer boy drummer - not your writerly writer nor the painterly painter. Creativity is an integral aspect of my existence - as it is for us all - in some form or another. My experiences in life have informed and shaped my world view profoundly. I am the disrupter - the never quite satisfied - the relentless creator of word, sound and image. I question the answers and question the questions.

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