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hang me

in my late / thought

there was still time spring thing

there is no thing

passion has entered its green zone

of protective dullness

where all my former associates

in queue with dead eyes

run their mouths like snitches

wearing dirty clown suits

and hats I don’t recognize


inner winds billowing \

overtakes the lee where confidence

drips icy corner curled \ shivers and waits

for a black leather bag of just another damn illusion


chance at life


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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