Junkies rollicking,
Children Frolicking,

Muddled transcendence, a young man's independence,

Sweaty pores,
Perfumed whores

Why was i born to shirk sheep-like conformity?

Descendance of the thorn-prick bottleneck,
Condescendence rattles off beet red faces in pages.

Awake to the imgaes of mystery shells on gilded stages,
Prop-pettles proteges stall, and exile to motivation,
Atrocity gives the great gift,
(heels shuffling-- in spite of aggravation. 

Judgement calls out to the masses,
Duty falls like crystal glasses,
Birds scream out
in sheer defiance,
Whines collaborate, drunken alliance. 
all i need is a fine feathered fix,
while suit and boys get rich quick,
one sweet name,
pulsed blue veins,
Angels fuck like the gods go bowling,
mockingbirds hush, for the devil is stolen
(with no archangels showing.

Our hallows are ill-attached and composed of flies interwoven,
All for one and sly for swollen,
we laze our trails alone but golden.
Bristels of the treetops,
Misty mountain flower,
Find away come sinking and devour. 

Your squintlines worn,
Your pale golden cloak torn, but
We carry our pride like swollen pollen sacks.

Say Good bye to golden hashes, heroin, dope and
closed eyelashes, 
Crows conform to the bleeding worm,

slithered snakes like to make time squirm,
Madness is a step away off stairs
of brick,
Vengeance smiles for a brain that's thick,

Where does the youth find their flock,
of into a separate conformity plot,
verbal assassinations,
speculation,
stars shot down in their prime,
constellations and aggravations,
all bow to a rusty wheel of time. 

How could any tear drop be violated?
Scorned cursed, and inevitably evaporated
before it had the chance to hit bottom.

On the wing, like oceans that sing,
or the mudd-puddles that cling to winding riverbeds,
Dry and cracked,
Or so we are told to fret.
On the summit of Blindness and regret. 

                Thomas J. Waters (6^12^14)
		J.R. Finlayson (6^9^8)
		Collaboration #1

Happy Deathday William Shakespeare! April 23rd is the anniversary of ol' Bill's death (and commonly used as a day to celebrate his birth also). So there's a Party! At the Tiger (yes, the big metal one) from 12-2 on April 23rd, and impromptu readings all day long. Bring your poetry, or somebody else's poetry, or a scene from play by, for, or about Will, and rustle up some good times! Just jump up and read at the Tiger anytime that day to help celebrate. There will be several apt prizes given out for lucky participators at the party. "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact."

Practice deliberate acts of kindness and sensible acts of beauty. (Contrary to popular belief, these will work much better.)