*New Poem from William Joyce*

Hi folks,

I've been in constant communication with my friend, the writer William Joyce (who also writes under the name Guillermo O'Joyce). He had to leave the U.S. as he couldn't survive on his S.S. and went to Guatemala, but between the civil war going on and the outlaws and a still-high cost of living, he recently left to go live in Mexico where he is currently. He tells me the cost of living is half what it was in Guatemala and infinitely safer!



Yesterday was his birthday (75) and he sent me this poem which I'd like to share with you. He'd just colored his beard and was bummed out the ladies weren't complimenting him on it. Like me, he knows the veracity of that saying, "Just because there's snow on the roof doesn't mean there's not a fire down below..."

Hope you enjoy his poem!

He wrote me: Tomorrow I turn 75 but none of the ladies have congratulated on my beard dye.  Wrote a poem about it.
 Wrote this poem for my birthday:                                                   Fuck People                                        If they're going                                        to go on                                        making a nuisance                                        of themselves                                        with cell phones,                                        poking                                        head down                                        running into you                                        on the street,                                        fuck people.                                        Bomb them,                                        hang them                                        from lamposts,                                        if they keep up                                        that insane poking                                        with their heads down                                        and can't see                                        the brilliance                                        of my beard dye,                                        fuck them,                                         start the bombs                                         falling.                                        As their heads                                        come off                                        they'll still be
                                        poking. 
Thanks, William. Happy birthday, old warrior!
Blue skies,Les