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Greene threw his cell on the bed

after the first ring –

simultaneous with sharp pings lapping around inside

his dry sienna abdomen

/ good

pings easing he sits staring at that swollen right hand \

truth or consequence prize from last night’s brawl

the hand –

a looking glass forward to his personal future

he’s walking straight to internal affairs with the vomit

of his contempt  in a donut box

– munchies for Captain


that’s it

I’ll make a plan


seventhirtyeight p.m. –

the implied rage of the blood splatter pattern

was a gorgeous violent expressionism

– Pollock would be proud

detective         detective

Greene looks up

full facial smirk to the CSI woman –

you missed something      didn’t you?

No  body

bloody knife with no prints

no trace much of anything

but there in a corner of the bathroom tile floor

some strange Hiroshima type vaporization silhouette

– three long skinny decidedly not human fingers


before CSI could scratch their heads

Feds were swarming the place

Greene strolls out

good luck with this one fellas



that’s it

I’ll make a plan



copyright 2016






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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