It was almost February and winter still hadn’t hit. I was beginning to
think that it wouldn’t arrive, and that spring was here. One evening as I was walking down the streets of the city I looked up to see a single snowflake falling down to meet my face. It was tiny and looked lonely, but a few moments later, it was followed by several more snowflakes. Sooner than later, the ground was covered in a white sheet of snow. and I was stuffing my hands in my coat pockets and pulling my hood on to brace myself against the bone-chilling wind. I made my way into a small coffee shop that was still open and was greeted by a short stocky man in his mid thirties with a dark, curly mustache and sleeves of faded tattoos.
“Hello” he said, his voice sounding deep and smooth. I pulled out my headphones that were burning in my ears, pressed pause on my phone and shoved them carelessly in my messenger bag.
“Hello”, I replied back with a slight smile, pulling my hands out of my
pockets and making my way to the counter.
The shop was small, but it had a staircase leading upstairs with more room for seating. The man who stood behind the counter continued to unpack small plastic covered packages, putting them away in cupboards and freezers. I pulled out my wallet from my bag and plopped it on the counter, feebly attempting to pull out my card with my hands shaking violently from the cold.
“What a night”, the man said, his eyes still focused on his duties.
“Hmm.” I said, nodding. “Can I get a 12oz mocha, please?” The man looked up from his package, and giggled coyly.
“Sure you can, sweetheart." He put the package that he was holding down below him, and began making the drink I had just ordered. My credit card held tightly in my hand, still shaking. There was awkward silence between us and I got the feeling the man understood I didn’t feel like talking. He finished my order, filling a small, white ceramic mug, and pushed it across the counter towards me.
“Anything else?”
I shook my head, implying no and handed him the cold card. He swiped it and handed it back to me, along with a receipt and a pen to sign. I signed the receipt, grabbed my coffee and headed up the stairs to my right. Upstairs, there was a large room with a dining room looking table and several chairs, and to the left, and a small hole in the wall with several cushions. I smiled at the welcoming spot, and took a seat. Pulling a small table up next to me, I set my coffee down, and rested my bag on the floor below me. The upstairs was completely empty. In fact; the entire shop was empty besides the man working downstairs. I took a deep breath in and let my head rest on some of the cushions behind me. Closing my eyes, I let out my breath and felt the warmth and the vast history of the shop run envelop me. I grabbed at the cup beside me and sipped at my coffee. It was still too hot to drink comfortably, so I set it down. Out of my bag, I pulled out my phone with the headphones still attached and scrunched into a tight tangled ball.
Untangling them, I placed each bud in my ear, and pressed play, continuing the song I had stopped when I had entered the coffee shop. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and I sunk deeper and deeper into the pillows around me, the smell of old books seeping into my skin. Finally, I closed my eyes, and after a few moments, was sound asleep.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a man’s face, unfamiliar but comforting.
“Excuse me…” he said, with a wide grin.
I jumped with embarrassment; ripping my headphones out of my ears, although they were no longer playing anything. How long had I been asleep? And who was this young man? An employee of the shop? A customer?
“Sorry!” I yelped.
The man chuckled as I swung my feet around to the floor and pulled out my phone to check the time. Realizing it was dead, I scanned the room for a clock and with no success I asked the stranger “What time is it?”
He rolled up his sleep, and checked what to be a rather expensive watch. The man was dressed nicely, but nothing too formal. A clean pair of black jeans, a plaid shirt and a sweater over it. His hair, a dark brown looked thick and slightly curled. He ran his fingers through it as he responded. “It’s quarter past.”
“Past what?”
He blinked at me. “Eight…” he paused at my confused look. “A.M”
I gasped at the time. It was just past nine at night when I had dozed off.
Why did the short stalky man not wake me? Did he forget I was upstairs?
Maybe he assumed I had left, and just missed me doing so.
“I…I…” I stumbled upon my words. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, still
unsure who this man was.
“My boss told me you’d be up here.” He lifted my cup of cold coffee and
handed it to me. “I can get you a warm cup if you’d like. We don’t open for another half hour.”
I nodded, and with the cup in hand, the man turned and headed down the stairs. I gathered my things, smoothed out my shirt, tossed my hair to one side and followed the man down the stairs.
“My names Elliot” he shouted from behind the counter and the noises of the coffee machine.
“Ellie.” I shouted back.
A door swung open and in Elliot’s hand was a new cup of coffee.
“That’s a coincidence.”
I smiled nervously and took the cup from the man.
“Sit.” he said, nodded to a table.
I followed his instructions and set my cup down and pulled out a chair.
He stared at me for a moment as I stared at my coffee. After a long moment of silence, I started.
“I am so sorr-”
He stopped me and reached out, resting his hand on top of mine.
“It’s alright Ellie…really.”
I had a few questions but didn’t know where to start. So I let the silence
continue.
“My boss figured you needed a place to stay.”
I wasn’t homeless. Did I look homeless?
“Do you...have somewhere to go…?”
I nodded. “I’m not homeless…” I proclaimed. I couldn’t help but stare at
his hands. There was something different about them from the rest of the
man.
“I figured. You’re too well dressed to be homeless.” He smiled, and his
hands moved up and through his hair again.
“So, if you’re not homeless then what’s your story?”
My story? I didn’t have a story. I was a young single girl. Lonely. Living
on her own in the city. On her way home when a snow storm hit. I just stopped into the coffee shop to get warm, not to spend the night like some refugee.
“My story?”
“Yeah, your story.” he continued to grin at me.
I paused to think of an answer.
“I was just on my way home. Stopped in for a cup of coffee. Guess I didn’t
drink enough of it.”
He laughed at the comment, showing a set of pearly white teeth.
“Maybe it wasn’t a very good cup of coffee.” He glanced at the cup in front of me. I lifted it and took a sip.
“This cup’s better.” We both laughed softly, then found each other staring
for long while at one another.
“I’ll make sure not to tell my boss you said that.”
I took another sip. “I should probably go…” I said, standing up.
“Go where?”
“Home.”
He shook his head chuckling slightly. “Hang out. I’ll open late.”
“I don’t want to be more of an inconvenience than I already have been.”
Elliot reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing it softly.
“Ellie.”
My eyes grew wide, and I felt my heart beat quickly within my chest.
“Let’s not play games with one another. Stay.”
I pulled my hand away, and bit my lip.
“I can’t. I’m sorry Elliot.” I grabbed my bag from under the table, and thew
it across my shoulder. “Thank you…” I said, thinking of his hands but
staring at the blue in his eyes. I turned around, and pushed the door open.


---------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------

It was Valentine’s Day (or as I like to call it “Singles Awareness Day” ) and my friend had dragged me out to this terrible bar in the suburbs  titled “Distraction” My friend, who was newly single and “ready to mingle” laughed when she saw the big blue sign with the name.
“That’s an ironic name” she said, snickering.
I nodded my head and groaned as we headed inside. She was right. What was this bar distracting me from? If anything, it was drawing more attention to the things I was supposed to be distracted from by just existing with such a name. My friend walked up to the bar, leaned against a stool and ordered something sweet. She asked me if I wanted anything, but I shook my head no. After a few minutes of small talking with her, and watching her sip at her watered down drink, I noticed a young man walking towards us. The bar was dimly lit, and I couldn’t quite make him out but I sighed and turned towards the bartender.
“*** and coke” I hollered out to the man. “Pour heavy!”
I stayed facing the shelves of drinks, the different bottles organized by color and type. Whiskey, Tequila, *****. Suddenly, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder and with a deep inhale, I turned; expecting some man with sleeked back hair and a bad tan to be facing me.
Instead, it was Elliot. Staring at me, standing inches from my face. I took a step back into a bar stool, and fell into a seat.
“Ellie” he said, smiling.
I couldn’t help but smile for a moment too, but then I quickly wiped it away as the bartender slid my drink to the right of me. Before I could do anything, Elliot placed a few dollars on the counter.
“You don’t have to -“
“It’s fine”  He continued to smile widely.
I looked around the room for my friend, she was across the room playing darts with some broad shouldered man. I took my glass, placed the straw on the counter and gulped down about half of it in one drink.  
“Happy Valentines Day” he said, almost sarcastically following the statement with a slight laugh.
I felt myself smiling again and took another gulp. The bartender definitely poured heavy. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, and I clenched my teeth. I could tell Elliot was trying hard not to laugh.
“Would you like to dan-“
I bursted out laughing.
“Dance? Oh god, please. Don’t do this Elliot.”
He stared at me widely for a moment. “What are you so afraid of Ellie?”
I scoffed, and shook my head, taking another drink I responded
“I’m not afraid of anything”
He blinked at me, then ran through his fingers through his hair and breathed out loudly.
“Is it me?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer this, or what he was really even asking. I stumbled on my words, stuttering. I finished my drink, and set the glass down on the counter.
“Another?” he asked.
“No...” I paused. “Thank you”
He stared at me for a moment, his brows furrowed. He reached out to touch me, and I pulled away.
“Ellie...Let me-“
I interrupted him and shouted out “space!”
He looked puzzled, then chuckled.
“What?”
“I’m afraid of space”
“Space....? Please elaborate.”
“Like the sky, and the planets and the stars and ****”
He laughed softly. “And ****...”
“Think about it. We have no idea what’s out there. We have no idea what’s coming for us. We are so small, comparatively.”
“So you believe in aliens?”
“I believe in possibility”
“Anything could happen.”
“Exactly! Right now, as we speak, the sun could explode.”
“Or, aliens could invade!”
“You’re really stuck on the alien thing.”
“It’s a possibility”
We both sat in silence for a moment, his eyes felt heavy on me. I stood up from my stool, our bodies were almost touching.
“I’ve got to go see if my friends OK.” I said, glancing over at her. She was still playing darts with the broad shoulder man. He had his arms wrapped around her, ‘showing’ her how to hold the dart now.
“She looks like she’s doing ok to me” Elliot said with a snicker.
I didn’t argue.
“What’s your last name?” he asked.
I shook my head violently. “Look, Elliot. You seem-“ I stopped and thought of how I wanted to finish my sentence, but before I could, Elliot grabbed my hand and held it tightly.
“Ellie. I’m just a man. I’m not some comet coming down or some alien race a million light years away. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
I took a few shallow breaths, my heart was pounding. I tried pulling away, but Elliot just pulled himself closer to me.
“You said you believe in possibility. You can’t deny the possibility of you and me.”
“I...”
He reached up, and tucked a hair that was falling down my face behind my ear then stepped back, letting go of my hand.
“I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to help you conquer your fear”
“Oh?”
He grabbed my hand again and pulled me towards the door, I looked over to my friend, but didn’t fight him.
“She’ll be okay.” he said, still tugging me.
I followed him out the door and down the street. We stopped and hailed a cab, as one pulled up, he opened the door for me.
“Get in.”
“I don’t even know you. You could be taking me to some wear house to **** and ****** me!”
“Ellie. Don’t be so dramatic. Get in”
“Where are we going?”
“To the moon.”
“And back again?”
“We’ll see. Maybe once you get there, you’ll never want to leave.”
“It’s a possibility”
I stepped inside the cab, and so did he.

------------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------


Once we were in the cab, the rush of excitement I was feeling in the bar and in the street had faded. Elliot handed the man his phone, which had an address written on it. The cabbie put the address into his GPS and started the meter as he drove on.
“So are we taking the cab to the moon? Or are we just taking the cab to NASA and then a spaceship to the moon?” I said sarcastically, my voice breaking from nervousness. Elliot put his hand on my leg, and sat back into his seat without saying anything.
“Who’s paying for the cab Elliot?”
He continued to be silent. I turned at stared out the window, I noticed the cab was taking us out of the city and I began to get a little worried.
“Can you please tell me where we’re going?” I asked quickly. I looked back at Elliot, he was sweating.
“Elliot? Is everything OK?” His eyes were shut and his breathing was heavy.
“I’m afraid of things in motion.” he muttered softly.
“Isn’t everything in motion?” he opened his eyes, raised his brows and then smiled at me.
“I mean, the world is always turning and we’re walking, or breathing. So we’re moving, no matter what-“
“Can you be quiet please?”
I looked back out the window again for what felt like a long while. Finally, the cab stopped in front a large abandoned dome like building in a town I had never been in. Elliot was quick to exit the cab, and circle the car to open my door. I stepped out, Elliot paid the driver and the cab drove away.
“So you ARE going to **** and ****** me?”
Elliot looked at me, and took my hand.
“I’m sorry about in the car. What mean by things in motion is like, cars and trains and planes and...” he paused, “and ****...”
We both laughed.
“I knew what you meant. I’m sorry if I was being difficult.”
He gave me a look and I nodded at him. He took me by the hand and led me closer to the building. We reached a door that had been boarded up.
“This doesn’t look like the moon...Or NASA...”
“Ellie. Do you trust me?”
“I...I don’t really even know you so-“
Elliot pried back at the board, slipping into the building through a small space and pulled me inside with him. The room we stepped into was a circle, and in the center; a large telescope.
“Does that even work?”
He squeezed my hand, then let go. Approaching the telescope, he stepped up a small set of stairs to a control panel. He pushed a few buttons and a few moments later, I heard a whirring and a low rattle followed by a deep sound. I felt a slight vibration and suddenly the roof was opening above me, exposing the night sky. On this night, the stars were bright, and the moon was full.
“Come here” Elliot called out from near the telescope.
I started to shake only slightly at the sight of the sky above me, I felt frozen and tense, as if I couldn’t move. Elliot made his way down the stairs and towards me.
“It’s okay Ellie.” he said, reaching for my hand and guiding me towards the telescope. We stepped up the stairs, and he stood next to me, still holding my hand as he adjusted a few things, looking in the telescope, then at me, then back through the telescope. He turned towards me, nudging me.
“Go ahead.”
I looked at the giant metal telescope, and shook my head.
“I really appreciate what you’re trying to do here but-“
He put his hand on my lower back, and pushed me towards the telescope.
“Just look.”
I put my face close to the telescope, an

This is for the outspoken racists
The short-sighted chauvinists
The one-sided misogynists
And every avid supporter of any form of intolerance

I think it's time I give you a piece of my mind
Allow me to crack through my cranium and you can
Extract whichever lobe of my brain you find suitable to fix your mental feebleness

Take my frontal lobe, I beg you because
Your so called conscientious thoughts
Permanently belong in the dumpster
Your brain flies confederate flags at half mast
As a constant reminder that even if
The South doesn't rise again you can still rest
Knowing you wave ignorance blissfully in the air

Or maybe you should have my parietal lobe
Since your manipulation of information is highly suspect
I suspect you've placed bigotry and hostility under solid ground
Equipped with enough racial slurs and misogynistic remarks
To blow up this whole town
Homegrown nouns and verbs conducting your own personal weapon of mass destruction
Corrupting the ears that welcome your mushroom clouds

Then again, your occipital lobe is out of whack too
Considering whether gray clouds paint the sky or
Royal waves reflect golden rays
All you ever see is black or white, gay or straight
Wrong or right, hate and hate
And I hate to break it to you
But you are blind to the beauty before us all
Your eyes fail to focus in on how we all
Lose scarlet plasma to paper cuts
Gain white hair and hardened scars
And share copper casket homes six feet deep

I almost forgot about your temporal lobe
That needs an entirely new design
Because it seems as though through all of this outrage
You can't process the filth in your mind
Like the smell of your own rotten attitude
Escapes your nostrils and pollutes the openness around you
Preventing any genuine intention the air it needs to breathe

Your entire brain is a train wreck
You need professional intellectual injections
Red pen corrections that can transform your neural network
Into a well-oiled machine fueled by tolerance
Overflowing with premium petroleum enhanced with high grade sensitivity to diversity

I want your synapses to fire positive discussions
Rather than recreate cerebric tyranny
I want your gray matter to mind its manners
To render exceptional positions
So your point of view refuses to point fingers
I want your prejudices pressure washed so far down
Your head's highway that they resort to becoming full-time pedestrians
I want your ability to communicate eliminated unless
You annihilate the venom from your vocabulary

But the choice is yours
You're voice is yours
And I won't take it from you
This is not a debate nor a dispute over your vernacular
Hate speech is undeniably your native language
And unfortunately you own the right to be as wrong as your words allow you to be
Instead this is merely a message that I hear your hostility
A not so subtle reminder that your narrow-mindedness is nauseating
And this society has enough deadly diseases to deal with
To drill your acceptance defect straight through your skull
But please feel free to take any part of my mind
And find the time to perform your own lobotomy
So maybe then you'll understand
That intolerance has no place in anyone's anatomy

Friend Rockstar,
            Listen, yield to a robust think-tank,
            earlobes skidding against wheat and grain.
Terrible story, yes, what happened to that little girl.
Sterile teddy nightgowns weeping in the squad car windows.
Teacher – Teacher, do you harken my yodels for grace?
            I’ve never been maternal.
            Put the game on. Abortion.
            That’s what I’m about.
            Grab a bra. Sling some weight.
            That’s what I’m about.
Some housefly wings on a weathered corn cob.
Some downhome, homegrown twang for those fancy, fussy britches.
            Muddy workboots. Sweat-soaked collars.
            That’s what I’m about.
Him done made me read, sir.
What sacraments did we write today?
            I can still remember my first broken bone.
            I can still remember my first broken *****.
                        That could be what this is all about.
Mary, Mary, you can be contrite,
            so knife – so critter – so laze – so stalked.
    Who fertilized your seeds? Who reared your sprouts?
            Cockle shells and silver bells, honey,
            can’t grow up
            to be pretty little maids all in a row.
Sterile teddy nightgowns – green bells in gaseous gardens.
Friend Rockstar, you may have to sleep.
This restless harbor is a shivering anecdote spilled from a belly,
            a vast, deep cavern with love notes written in milk.
Your fried, stern smile was a flaking fingernail adjacent to the crack in the flowerpot.
Some garden, I say.

homegrown and beautiful
wanderer through the night
her lack of sunlight
pedals become dull
creatures of disturbance
they want to eat
the beauty for their service
homegrown and beautiful
never seen the rain
beauty never knew
the wonders of drugs
creatures promised her fun
homegrown and wilting
beauty damaged
wonder the night

Fried brinjal rolled in flatbread
Her magic recipe of love homemade
What treasure they hold what charm unlocks
When sharp at two opens up lunchbox!

A sweet candy from the finest cheese
Made from cow milk a salivary bliss
I feel helpless and little can do
My belly when growls sharp at two!

I feel entranced in that magic hour
When smell green peas and cauliflower
She makes them fine rich butter spread
The toasted breads her love homemade!

She knows my bowel not makes it rich
Fine cut cucumber in soft sandwich
In all them I find her special brew
Of love homemade to be opened at two!

Though it’s never that I made her known
How sweetly relish her love homegrown
But when I open lunchbox at two
Wonder without her what I would do!

Creative expressions, examine artistic talents.
Plan it out, count ounces, keep countering the balance.

Distant planets i feel more at place with,
disgraced by the disgusting face human-race-lift.
I'm currently placed here, a pessimistic cynic thinkin
sink or swim, who cares? i'm already ****** dippin in it.

Deep thoughts dropping, with brainstorm droughts often,
countermanding clever cogitation conjured in common;

I'm om nom nom-ing, busting every ****** ******,
endowed well where it counts never gave a ***** a problem.

Now drop that on an album, lay down a simple beat.
Sample the same **** over and over on repeat.
Call it a hype track, make some mixes, overlap.
Over a short duration you can claim to be savior of rap.
It's just that easy. Innovative minds depleting,
stillborn America with its heart still beating.

Patiently waiting..
I'm about to go crazy..
Basically, I better blow up or this hate is gonna take me.

Due to popular belief. I believe that certain things are due to happen naturally.
Like all other things it's bound to grow. This thing, love.
We are due to become obese to this organic, homegrown feeling.

The initial look that begins as taste. Naturally we are starved.

Aroused by the scent that lures us close. This thing, love.

One thing we must learn is self control. To not over indulge in the primary reason it exists.

To selfishly take because it's there. This thing, love.

Effort exudes as it becomes habit. Being placed at a table readily available for what portion comes next.

This need becomes confused with want.

To please others before our need in unselfish manner. A straight forward response to habit.

The rising availability of also being taken for granted. The insurmountable outline that defines lust.

Our intake becomes higher attempting to justify the difference. Thus we become lazy.

Reacting in ways we normally wouldn't. This thing, love.

This scent acts as incentive,  instantly attracted by which we over indulge.

Searching for this thing, love.

It's a reasonable thing. Knowing when to reach. When to pull. When to give and sacrifice.

Almost always all of these happen, learning self control, vocalizing when we've had our fill.

Else we will continue to eat until there is nothing left.
Grown obese. This thing, love

You know all those different types of telephones:
Home phones, office phones, and cell phones, too?
Well they all work two ways: yours and mine.

So why is it that you’re always the one
Who gets to listen to my messages?

Telephones are just homegrown conspiracies
Hatched by others to make you think you’re close to me.
And all the words you say that you think are giving me pleasure,

Well I hate to tell you
But they’re not.

They call me a workless guy
What they mean is worthless
Envious they’re and that’s why
Don’t like my leisurely pace!

I ain’t the one to run the race
Make do with my small needs
I hate to wear a worried face
Bear a mind where darkness breeds!

I don’t wanna run a race
Where the end ever recedes
Hate to be for the time pressed
Yet finding needs increased!

I give a **** taking it too hard
Love to run my time as own
Penning a poem feeding a bird
Watering dreams homegrown!

A ****** midwestern Somali
was feeling and acting quite jolly.
This homegrown jihadi
employed his own body
in hacking (not cyber). Thanks, Ali.

My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.

A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.

Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.

How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for high-brow, White-men polemics

By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Based-vulgarity amongst the begrimed-teeth-******* and homegrown-Jive.

The steps still creaked 
Even though the breathe on my neck has been stale for a week
I miss you more than ever
Severed by ties uncompressing measures
I just want you to come back home
I can show you how much Ive grown
So much I can show
Im a different person, 
I learned from my mistakes and less will be made
Without you
Is like driving on the fumes of gasoline 
From which has become empty 
Right before you drove to end of the earth with me
We’re different from other couples
Without all of the *******
Without any titles
Were just homegrown lovers caught between the cycles
Of peace and suffer 
Life or death
Love or Hate
Its not that the world is a bad place but sometimes Im left with a bad taste
In my mouth I can still feel your tongue ever so soft rolling around
As does mine
Feeling your heart beat as we disregard the oh so punctual time
It doesn’t matter when Im with you
We could drive with no destination
Talk with nothing thought of as a conclusion
You know what I mean?
Something about you changes me
Like the sun when it sets on the trees
Do you remember that day?
It was perfect
Everything Ive ever wanted
Just the two of us watching the verses of the world change
Into a symphonic chores blowing our minds to an oblivion away
If only you could see what I see
What crawls in the bed with me
Just to feel my ever rising heart beat
I miss that
I mean,
I miss you
I miss you more than ever
The way your smile crinkles your nose 
Your eyes so bright when we used to get ******
Together!
Soft meadows of apple blossom skin,
Just a touch and Im off on a binge
I can’t get enough of the way you make me feel
Your love is truly my drug
Im sorry for yelling
Im sorry for telling you all of those things I didn’t mean
In a way that made you slam the door and leave
Me alone
In this house, just a haunted memory of a door being closed and you’re gone forever
Nothing but the memories to make me better 
Only for a moment
Like a cigarette you think you’ll just have one
You think it’ll be fun
But then your hooked
I know this seems crazy
I know I wouldn’t say it
I was scared you wouldn’t believe it
I was scared you might forget it
But I love you with more of my heart then I can handle
I feel myself slipping away as though the sedatives have finally found my still so sober veins
I might not wake from this
I might not see you again
Just promise me one thing
Love with all your heart, and soon birds will begin to sing

First, let’s talk about some of the lies
Uttered by the nefarious and unwise
Of a peculiar type of mindless insanity
Created and backed by the inanity
Of the Madison Avenue careerists
And hordes of conspiracy theorists
Who have taken the issue of a ****
And buried it in misconduct and greed.

It is important not to fall for the joke
That it is quite all right to smoke
Because smoking anything you pass
A dose of something called cyanic gas
Into your lungs, and perhaps minimal,
It’s the gas they use to execute criminals.
But, other uses for this homegrown stuff
Can help people whose lives are tough.

But the whole shooting match is a dodge
Started out by rich men in their fancy lodge
Fueled by ignorance and false piety
Written into law by a strangers to sobriety
That somehow had no problem with drinking
But thought being ****** was stinking thinking.
So they created movies and legends galore.
But repression is all the lies were ever for.

(There’s an old joke about a boss’s decree
About employees drinking ***** daily.
He issued the rule on the smell-free *****
That was drunk at lunch time by his crews,
Because he didn’t want customers hazy
Thinking his employees were going crazy.
He preferred they know they were inebriated
Rather than a staff full of the grossly pixilated.)

It was that kind of thinking that created
A fervor that up until today has not abated,
That named an easily grown garden plant
Into some kind of major anti-***** rant,
While opiates are endorsed by the AMA.
And hundreds of versions are here today
To cure the same ailments as cannabis
Without the side effects that are a nemesis.

Medical science is finally ignoring
A sacred cow that needed goring;
Suggesting to the country as a whole
That this simple plant can play a role
In helping those who need relief
And are being criminalized by a belief
That, accompanied with such sadness,
Was the true definition of ****** madness.

Eleven dead; six injured.
How does a person try to explain
The enormity of such a crime--
The inexplicable loss, the pain?

All were shot at a place of worship--
At a synagogue in Pittsburgh, P-A,
On what began as a peaceful morning
On a late October Sabbath day.

Early that morning no one could have
Imagined the horror the day would bring,
Even though we live in a time
When hatred seems to be in full swing.

It takes only ONE hater
To change the course of many lives
In a country where underneath
The peaceful appearance, violence thrives.

The president says that armed guards
Are what we need and not tougher laws.
He bows before the gun lobby,
Addressing the symptoms, but not the cause.

Helping refugees get settled:
For that the synagogue is known.
That was an issue that irked the killer,
Who was from here. Yes, homegrown!

Do we ignore red flag warnings
And turn our heads when someone spews
Hatred of groups such as Muslims,
Asylum seekers, gays, or Jews?

Do we ignore the poisonous words
That constantly drip down from the top?
At what point do the majority
Of people say: This must stop!

Give praise to those who strive for positive
Change with every heartfelt endeavor.
And hold in your heart the many people
Whose lives have now been changed forever.
_______

May the victims' lives inspire us all by showing us the power of love,
and may they rest in peace.

Joyce Fienberg
Richard Gottfried
Rose Mallinger
Jerry Rabinowitz
Cecil Rosenthal
David Rosenthal
Bernice Simon
Sylvan Simon
Daniel Stein
Melvin Wax
Irving Younger

And may thoughts of love and healing embrace the injured.

-by Bob B (10-28-18)

Ever get curious about
how important you are?
Whether or not
you're pulling your weight
or dragging the whole world down?

For every center of a universe
there are pounds of flesh to mask it
call it what you will,

Human, homosapien,
the individual,

or Norman.

This planet is littered
with biases,

and each one
counts just as much
as the ones that don't.

"I'm gravitating
towards the shiniest
object in the store"

We say to ourselves,

unaware our consciousness
is simply a loading screen.

First
my neckbones decayed
from lack of use
but I didn’t mind
if my head could lay
blissfully in your lap
forever

Then
you melted away
leaving my mind
to rot in mud
squishy
like the texture
of dependence

Now
I will grow new bones
in a garden long neglected
teeming with life
just waiting for light
once buried
out of fear
I might **** it

Overtime
I will bloom
with a new sense of self
aware
of my prolific potential
with head held high
by homegrown bones
I will never let die again

Hand on the good book that I never read,
I swore my loyalty though you know I like to fib,
Even as your see the guilt gushing beneath my skin,
I’ve been holding the prosecutor’s hand, with another on the switch,

A spineless snitch waiting for the green light to fry you for what Benjamin did,

So sorry this couldn’t have been different,
But the chair only seats one according to our governance,
And I’m not the victim with a scheme preached as providence

So sorry for the inconvenience
But I want to feel the pulse of the pompous cease,
And watch the stillness of eyes that once blinked,
When they found the oval throne of a tyrant
Instead of the virtuous,
The one who was to lead us,

So who’s stopping me from strapping you to that seat?
Since my crime caused the scene
Since your fathers where the ones who put your sons to sleep

Coming from the cranial cracks of the insane,
Those that tried justified slavery while promising us all equality

I am the reason they put price tags on humans
And why this isn’t the land of the free

I’m the governor forcing your loyalty
Or I tell everyone you’re a traitor before finding you guilty,

I’m Uncle Sam’s mistress,
The thought process of social unrest,
When the enemy was a homegrown threat,
When Plymouth protest turned to disobedience,
I was with the Protestant,

I’m the crack in the Liberty Bell,
The judge, jury, and judicial jezebel,

The King, the colonial, the freedom fighter, the insurgent
I’ve once facilitated your independence,
I was your lust for a better existence

Since the struggle against a parliament
I’ve been dealing you an idealistic hand,
Since the election of the forty-third,
I am the notion that this isn’t the promise land
Like a revolutionary remedy
I am the idealistic ******,

The enemy of our mentalities
The thought of defying the constraints this reality

I just want to throw in the sack,
don’t want to get back on track,
flap jack, slap it on up
and saddle on
sick of this race,
since long ago
my lethargy has shifted
to let-it-go,
go with the flow,
don’t let things get to you that much
coz thoughts shift at such a rush,
every updated status
makes you so outdated,
Oh wait, you’re here?
We’re glad you made it,
and no time to let this all soak in,
off we go on another whim,
are you worried what you’re saying?
It’s all right, just fake it,
are you getting nervous?
Imagine the audience naked,
and if you can't smoke it, bake it,
just to take it,
anyway you can,
because people clang, clang, clang on
and everyone’s right
nobody's wrong,
Everyone’s dressed in hard-ons
running along for their next ****,
kind of makes me thank God
when the electricity cuts,
because for at least two seconds
everything stops.

And we breathe,
and look around,
and wonder,
how’d I get here in the first place?

But not first place,
we popped out and joined the rat race,
and it takes a while to figure out
how to move at our own pace.
Hard not to get caught
up in the glitz and glamour
of it all,
in the identities and
stereotypes we can perform,
they said we could be anyone
we wanted to be, and somehow
it's to my benefit that I should be me?

You see, it wasn’t always like that.

For a long time this forum didn’t exist,
(and still doesn’t for a list of your neighbors.)
Do them a favor, recognize.
Stop criti-size-ing what we
don’t know, so much easier to sit in the back
puffing on homegrown, so much easier to
point fingers and scream “I told you so!”

Yes, we know.

But even if you do the world carries on.
Stay calm,

It waits for no one.

Who knows?

Maybe someday your bones will be
what life is made of.

Homegrown but hermetically sealed
from people, places, ways to feel.
Dropping a tablet on a tongue,
Korbel divides around pink sponge;
swallowing four or five, to avoid feeling alive.
There are cars leaving trails of thoughts.
Dare them to drive,
drunk on moments,
stuck on other people--
her freckles could fall to the floor
and turn the tiles into an oceanic remembrance.

-

We are lost trees, reaching out
but stuck where we say we'll soon leave:
rooted even after death,
relying on escape so much that hope
becomes our prison.

In a hospital with glass walls they can't hide their problems
as the newborn screams and the cancer depletes
the cycle of life is witnessed like a dream
vivid in this reality the harshness of their insanity,
purely demographically calculating each catastrophe
Anxiety and depression, broken bones and unlearned lessons,
overflowing pediatric wings and incomprehensible fallacies
how many angels have to fall before they finally change something?
the way it is just isn't working
genetically modifying the health and well being of humanity
is devil-like control that we've given out freely
each one of us is just as guilty
of giving in without even thinking
they've designed it not only to be easy,
but required, legally
prepared for the community
to not take it so peacefully
"You can't make me" becomes a felony
and a ticket can be written for anything
don't get caught with your hands in your pockets day dreaming...
you silly dreamer human being
theres laws against speaking free, although the constitution disagrees
the law wasn't given it's own set of wings
and jealous was he so he created a scene
and made it seem like a city was their dream
when it never really came close to being
handing out medications and monthly vaccines
instead of homegrown natural remedies

vim and vigor
**** and vinegar
stale old sayings that still ring true
and i'm people-watching again
putting words to their steps
pulling phrases from the books i read
when i was a child
and dressing them up like dolls
in their own descriptions

some game, i think to myself
as the lines drift round their heads
like prickly crowns
we define ourselves with these words
with things unthinkingly said
and we wear them
like capes or like armour
like medals or like long baggy sweaters
displaying or betraying
the true poetry inside

i'm people-watching again
noticing how we take these words and use them
to excuse ourselves, to explain ourselves
to take the disdain and refrain from believing
our own homegrown lines
for some reason, the words that come
from other mouths
are the ones we take as truth

vim and vigor
now that's a compliment
**** and vinegar
take that with a grain of salt
by default, your own voice comes first
so describe yourself wisely

i'm people-watching again
shielding myself from the poetry of it all