Posted on



far gone purple cosmic nights past

I kicked miss Jazz Daisy

straight out my ride

/ saw her thumbing

until her infinitesimal dot disappeared

on the road’s long cold shoulder

/ never liked her name

/ she forgot who she was

since warm red clay cotton pain fields


I’ve long

tired of driving around

miss Jazz Daisy

simple minded think she diva hollow respect for self

dictating corny ambiance

coffee and donut music brunch

give her

much love

to grow


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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