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Poetry By Clifford K Watkins Jr.

The Drifter

The drifter carries a small shovel to dig his own grave
he stands eerily beside a gravel road
unable to measure his soul
having fled his humdrum life on the path to freedom that he never finds
he never escapes his mind
the labyrinth inside
dirt descends from his hourglass hands into a shallow hole
he knows everything
yet wants nothing
he displays his scars reminding himself that he was once alive
he impales himself with invisible knives
and hurls himself into a unmarked grave
as a random stranger oozes from his eyes
hello god
goodbye devil
I'm the drifter
walking into the sun
ready to vanish like singing skulls rolling into oblivion
and tomorrow
no one remembers him


The Dead Magicians

all of our grandeur spawned a race of kings
soon confined to the ground
we know nothing
and madly want to revive what hasn't been found
free the birds from mercurial skies
we're minute projections lost in a forgotten world
caught in a labyrinth of lies

birds assemble above
awaiting the future race of kings
feasting on corpses
and flapping their wings
now the tree is swaying
branches fall on those who are praying
waning moments in our lean hour
dead magicians want one last ritual
to restore their power
and dance among souls
lost in the crevices of night
an ideal place for firewater seclusion
or a murderous plight
never embrace reality with a reason to remember
innocent crayon depictions of canyon kitchens
and glowing embers


Gather Their Faces

fleshy creatures flaunting
wanting today
they gather their faces
and drool in the mirror
tracing their faults
and grow inferior
severed trees
descending as everyone
threatening clouds roll in unison
creating for all intents
and purposes
a world undone
special rays bent on lunacy
drowning in that foul
urchin-wombed reality
who hasn't groveled in futility
it appears so dim
staring into the sky
maybe we expect too much from him


In the Eyes of Obsession


only wanting to live again

attempting to mend

too lost to pretend 

a wealth of strangers

a single friend


I'm dying faster

a pace unknown to typical bastards

found the morning after

residing blindly with laughter



staring into a cracked mirror

a fool captivated by green

fear is my master

a dry-sanded loner

the feel of crackling leaves

tracing your face

unbelievable ease

arriving like a thief

a searcher

an echo in darkness

amplified by misery

inhibiting relief

tomorrow's  promise


I'm the pitiful strand

jousting at emaciated hands

stranded in certain space

wiping away stray shavings erased

listless beneath a yellow moon

reflecting on the blue river's glow

envisioning green


I'm the fool

from a self-inflicted school

of cowardly drool

I think so


death-clamped witness

fiery graffiti

I see your name

it's emblazoned by a colossal sun

shedding light on our trivial game

now I've come undone

left to special rays bent on lunacy

watch the coward run

trying to remember me

traveling in this finite brain

your cushion making me sane

delving deeper

a heathen bathing in acid rain

a derailed train

it's never the same for imagination's slave

swirling in countless dreams

listening for this bewildered buffoon

to embody clarity's whisperer

racing against eternity

unraveled not a moment too soon

basking in cohesive humility

dancing around a tomb



holding my breath

a millisecond from death

immortality is a comedian

oozing in every direction

a mirror in absence of reflection

sweet spirit streams

insanity gleams

you're my dream

now nothing is left


the fleeting vision of an emerald beauty

laughing at the paltry puppet

that is me

your face hides my reflection

and is all that I can see

a simple sigh

a towering erection

we'll never die

in the eyes of obsession



a wall of mirrors
swatted flies
rolling eyes
another vision
unreality's guide
following the lines
nowhere to hide
empty minds
colorful pebbles
emptied from an aquarium
a stranger's emaciated hands
the one I loathe
when I'm not alone
shivering into madness
painting your face
with crushed stones
a prattler's intrusion
retreating with severed tongue
aided by delusion
hurtful games
muddled reflections
make it real
clarity's an artist
never a pill
shackled by infinity
freed from herself
who remembers green
running for a shadow
with nothing in between


Clouds Can Have Faces


clouds can have faces

of varying



and races


people reign

and fade into abstraction

reality is no less fleeting


the whisperer is alone

beneath skies of blue


the moon is a mannequin's head




a symbol of futility

less than figment

the befuddled look

of an inept liar

a fly in a scatter garden

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