Wilkins Driver

Wilkins Driver Poems

Wilkins Driver Biography

born in 1946 this writer aged within an accounted marker he loved to fancy up even though he lived in the slums of freelance oregon he never left or ever was in another city but in 1998 wilkins driver disapeared and i his distant relative has found all of his writings that were in his abondoned cabin and im gonna post them all on this page when i have time because i dont know if hes alive anymore. he never had kids but he had a wife for 2 years she died in late 97 i guess she used to complain about his alcoholism alot. he never actually did anything after he retired he mostly sat in his cabin alone writing about whatever came to mind i guess i dont really know anything else about him i only met him one time when i was six my mom told me that we needed to visit a family member. from what i remember he was sitting in a chair drinking and talking about somebody he knew. he only talked to me once and he told me to sit in front of him and look into his eyes he asked if they were empty i didnt answer i was scared and ran away. afterwards my mom and dad were talking about how crazy he was and how they wished they didnt go i dont know ill let you read his writings cuz they interest me somehow.)

The Best Poem Of Wilkins Driver

Growing To Obluesque '96

real tin deers pinch greusome town defects
yellow corridoors with picket signs waving
we are the killers who resign with technique
broomstick handles other ditch reflections
stickin out the weather underneath torn deserts
just pause the second and try the attraction
of agonizing relief some better intentions
endure these contractions ice age retalliation
this hope ive found running around the clouds
falling down loving being down
internal trouble im dumbfounded scopes
mingling deception to imbeddled postivity
pannier trinkles of prosperity
undone desks trying to sit among the objects
who relates a finger of touching dietetics
language boredome respects the facial inspections
im done im done with the caressing im done pressing
are the dictions of the dictionary amoung your soul
of your soul ohh real hope no more jokes no more jokes
unaffectionate prospects loving the fun of the world
in the wrong way of mishaps universal grunting dock specks
the water it flows but how would we know
the weight of a spoiled rutine defection
ohh my god will i just realize
once ive died theres no more sequals
to the feelings ive controlled
past prequals the verbs ive overused
and abused every link toward the decipals telling
levitation abusing our bodies like we arent doing it already
up in space we think of outside still
in our bodies on a chair walking up and down the stairs
we are still peeking thrones wondering how these dreams dont die
telling how our words spoke more than our actions ever sold
papacy out of control the disk has tried eminence
dormer however still listening to me and discomfit
truffle our memories ohh the kindess i hold in
if you dont understand alaska dont try it
an understanding of math thats subsidary with the ball of dawn
humming with nouns of misuse
the useless poems they refuse to give us
the tag of dwelling conduct inscribed in the well
away to the flies we kill with swaps out of luck the seal of detention
questionable love triangles in the shapes of ageing
reality opening up to the unfolding
something inside no no no no no no more killing stones
rocks of hail feeling exiles in prisons
the crunch of love deteriating no more touch
though we are just loveless now
pushing each others affectionates possesions
littering nothing but trust no cuts we love ourselves
of course were on thin skinned bones
dealing with this spell that seems to swept us
out in the open we've been dead for years
this wont end with death but life ohh dreaming still its amazing until..........

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