~`~ If poetic justice were EVER served…I think Ch.ris.tie would best be served poetic justice by waking-up affixed back-to-back with C.he.ney in the dank basement of one of Reg’s cold sweat early hour second-sleep dreamscapes.

Awakened by his…[im]purest just deserts by the sounds of Dickey’s depth-to-core moaning, …below the radar, above the REM, the oscillating sound of cold machines far above them; rusty faucet dripping, rusty water seethes ~`~

You are the demon-eyes: YOU corporate greed

Your rotten apple deeds did poison my seed

Feed tonight, son, ..on your own damned sins

The hour is upon us ...and the fatheads will begin,

W/a pluck & a bump & roll in the hands of our higher soul,

The very phrase you’ve lived by takes its ironical toll

It’s NOT business, ..FUCKERs, it’s ONLY personal

~`~

Bless your sustained efforts, Professor West, whatever your surface your center IS best; …& hold that whole note (accompanied by tenor saxophone totes) you ol’ salty camera lens & pen, Michael Ware, hoe your row