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AT TERMINUS

 

\

mad dogs are rain drops

falling twist tug my heart torn

how /

so comfortable then

this smelly seat of denial feels

 

by choice

stuck

huge empty here

this where occupies an is what

the errors breathe hot

haunted air

yet /

i close me

 

walk with me

toward that first door of doom

before my ears erase the words

you speak through your father’s eyes

 

aewatkins(c)2017

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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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