mad, bad and dangerous to grow,
fed and sativa both,
the two I want to smoke,
and hang high on that green rope.

they stood outside the stadium
unshriven
without a clue
broken by numbers
sober as the moon

every one of them
hollow in the wind
watching their hands
shouting

sativa!
sativa!

The good thing about being a gypsy
is its wild sativa;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its tamed alcoholic.

The good thing about being a gypsy
is its endless freedom;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its slavery to freedom.

The good thing about being a gypsy
is its philosophic heart;
the bad thing about being a gypsy
is its down-regulation of joy.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is its search for silence;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is its capacity for noise.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is the free meal;
the worst thing about being a wander
is the free meal.

The best thing about being a wanderer
is the love of night;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is the love of day.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is the wandering heart;
the worst thing about being a wanderer
is the gypsy heart.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is its magic book;
the worst thing about being a gypsy
is its accumulated curse.

The best thing about being a gypsy
is its varied muse;
the worst thing about being a gypsy
is its lack of one.

I got up late and left the house at eight.
To some that might be early but it’s not.
The cloudless day surely would be great
I wanted to see a friend who I found hot.
Right before the bus stop I heard someone
Calling out my name, a voice I knew.
Asking if I wanted to have some great fun;
He could be counted on to follow through.

We went around the corner to a buddy
One I was sure I had never met before.
His front yard was wet and very muddy
With marijuana plants there by the score.
We went inside and after a few doobies
I asked him if the cops left him alone;
After all those plants are not jujubies.
He didn’t answer me, but dialed the phone.

A little while later I heard someone knocking
Our host went over, let the new guest in.
I guess my face betrayed something shocking,
Because I heard the laughter of my friends.
Standing in the door was a policeman
Full regalia, face as stern as a warrior.
I got up, almost straight enough to stand
When our host said don’t call your lawyer.

Relax, he said, the cop is my kid brother
And he does not believe in this law;
He thinks the rules against *** and hemp
Are dumber than a script from Hee Haw.
We sat there with him and passed the joint.
He told us not to worry about his sergeant.
He smokes too, so that’s a good point.
*** heads with a policeman friend is pleasant.

I never made it over to my friend’s place,
The one I started out today to see.
He didn’t expect me, so it is no disgrace.
How the day turned out was okay with me.
One of the nice things about cannabis use
Is the happy acceptance of one’s fate.
Not caring where you’re going is a good excuse
To stay longer and not care if you are late.

Uhh,..(I can't sleep3)..(I'm up,Yeah2)..Uhh, Yeah..(I can't sleep3)..I gotta stay grinding more yeah..Uhh..(no I can't sleep6)..I (can't sleep3), I gotta keep writing till I'm dead & gone,yeah..Aye..(I can't sleep6),can't sleep...I gotta keep working hard .Aye..(no I can't sleep3)..(I can't sleep3), (can't sleep.3).Imma keep rolling *** , sativa..Aye..(I can't sleep, no I can't sleep4)..,I gotta keep grinding yeah, some more..,.Uhh, Yeah..(I can't sleep3)...no (I can't sleep.3)
No I can't homie..yeah I'm doing the most, Yeah..,
/I (can't sleep2)/3.
(I can't sleep3)..Insomnia, Yeah,..(I can't sleep3)..I gotta lot of moves & money to make,& I'm in pursuit homie..I can't sleep..I'm up..Yeah

Ayo, I'm spitting this dope man listen up..Ayo yeah I'm spitting the truth my ***** so blast this **** loud..Uhh


I'm in my Trap man, rapping & packaging this hard to flood the streets wit, I'm investing in my tounge *****,..I'm slanging dope with communication, Yeah my language, ***** its a craft to do what I'm doing,.. I'm so good with writing raps..I should apply to Atlanta Art Institution, (I can't sleep2)..(I'm up2)..man I'm too focus, I'm so hungry, physically & mentally Yeah,..(I can't sleep2)..(I'm up2)..just like a crack fein chasing after its last high mane,..I'm tryna get higher, I'm so tired of rolling  ****** up, so I'm grinding, so I can have alot of dat funky stuff up in my brain, no I can't get enough of the funk my *****..Yeah,Yeah

I'm in full speed,.. I'm going so fast homie,.. Like a  NASCAR race mane, you demons better stay outta my way or yo *** will get raned over just like what Tony Stewart did to Kevin Ward..R.I.P homie, no disrespect to his family, I'm just saying don't mess wit me..because (I don't play3)..Naw mane..I'm bout what I say,..Noo..(I don't play3)..Imma grown *** man, no baby steps no more homie..Aye
(I can't sleep2)
I'm up (all day2)..
noo
(I can't sleep2)
I got money to take & make..noo
(I can't sleep2)
I got alot of moves (to make2)..No
(I can't sleep2)
I got alot of **** (to Bake..2)
Aye..


Aye, I stay up 24/7..,I gottas to get it...I'm very impatient, I'm pushing my self to the limit, I'm pushing my self no peer pressure, **** who else gonna push me nobody else will man..Ayo
I'm inspiring the youth homie,Ayo..Im inspired by myself, mane I look in the mirror man, & be like (got ****2)..You the truth Drew, Fo show..(Yeah4).., & I ain't cocky or conceited, my ***** I motivate myself..Yeah..Aye

(I can't sleep3)..***** I'm up next..(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..(I can't sleep2)..** I'm the best..(I can't sleep3)..***** I'm the man Yess..(I can't sleep2)..I'm up & writing hits *****,..(I can't sleep3)..,I'm grinding.. (I can't sleep3)..I'm  searching, tryna find where success lives..Yeah I'm hungry, like a lion..Aye..(I can't sleep3)..

Imma diamond, Im so fly man,..I'm so higher than anyone else,..yeah Im so unique, Ayo, Imma  g, Aye (I can't sleep3)..its so hard to get some rest like I lived (on the streets,3) Ayo, I'm tryna feed (my family3) mane,..I'm fighting for my family like John Q homie, I'm doing the impossible anybody could of done it tho, but these ****** just to ***** for the part so Im playing the role, Ayo, I'm staying true to myself always no matter what, I will never ever fold, I will never change for the fame, **** having  a fraudulent sound, forget a major label, nobody bossing me around, I'm commanding myself dawg..I'm in a position of authority no Cartman..Uhh, Imma young southern ***** wit a  Midwest Flow..,Aye, I roll up for depression, that's my medicine Yess..mane I ain't regreting nothing , I'm looking past all of the dumb **** I  ever did do, I'm growing stronger, like the Hulk , Im teaching myself control..but im still uncontrollable..Aye my rhymes make parents uncomfortable, **** it have your lil son trying dresses on, I did the best that I could do..I'm here to uplift you  & inspire, not take you to hell  dude..Uhh

(Don't try me2)..*****, OFTR we camed from nothing now all we do is get stares , the people finally starting to notice what's real, man we was famous in our minds already, (confidence,)
when the doubters & haters thought of us as a bunch of lazy *** ******..man, we was winning even before they ever started to  take notice, Aye, we was winning even tho we  took alot of losses,..OFTR we prevail, Thank God for everything without him I would never had wrote this..Ayo
You gotta learn from the past mistakes,  move past them, & try to never make them again mane dawg, never take any breaks, keep practicing, untill you fall out, & lose consciousness..never give up, & never give in , Yeah you win some, Yeah you lose some, but your heart still beats,..so keep breathing.. (Go harder, Yeah2)..*****,.. Uhh

(I can't sleep3)..,Naw (I can't sleep3)..Insomnia,.. Uhh, play this song over & over again if you  are feeling down, sad & depress ..I'll uplift ya..Uhh..,..I can't sleep

I can't sleep6..
I gotta stick to what I know.
I gotta stay on go..

And on the third day he rose
eyes red from creation
a sativa-induced resurrection

And though many searched for him
he was not there
he was already philosophy and smoke

Now, centuries later
millions roll themselves in his dogma
with hopes of getting high

The café rumbles like the belly of a fasting saint,
voices competing with the clanks of silverware.
In the tearoom a boy with a tangle of wires
leaking from an unzipped backpack
struts between tables, billing himself as a "human hotspot".
He wears the same glasses you do;
they slip down his nose as he leans over to flirt with the waitress
in the red apron, who taps her nails against the cash register
and laughs at his bad jokes, she tells me, because
he wears his pants too high, just like her brother used to.

A man with a soup-stained button down and a bald spot
introduces himself as Peter Ling, proprietor,
oracle of the inner city rummage sale,
advisor to the lost and hungry.
He doles out pithy wisdom and lentils into mismatched bowls-
"You want therapy? Try your ex boyfriend."
The four of us hide our grins, and flee
to his cavernous basement. As we go spelunking
through the puddles left by a burst pipe,
clambering past bloated books and warped furniture,
Emma Miller swears that she slept here once-
on a moldy brown sofa crouched like a hibernating bear
among empty Heineken bottles.

The expedition yields four boxes of acupuncturist leaflets
and a damp antique suitcase filled with seeds,
who seized the opportunity to germinate,
their tiny roots searching fruitlessly
in the mildewed silk lining.
Ling says he's going to try gardening this year,
serve up spaghetti squash grown out back by the garage.

We sowed pea shoots and salad greens
in glass jars pilfered from a claw-footed armoire
that lay on its side, defeated, like the last of the saber-tooths.
I named one for you, tucked Eruca vesicaria sativa
into potting soil, and set it on the balcony railing-
tempting fate and gravity, because you always liked a little excitement
with your afternoon cup of rooibos.
I didn't see the girl who knocked you off your perch,
saw only the sun's sharp gleam off the glass
as the jar plunged, graceful as a slow-motion train wreck
on its arc toward the concrete,
and Peter Ling reached up with his big, calloused hand
to break your fall.

You could be..(Yeah you could be2)..anything.. You could be,yeah..you can be anything..Uhh,Yeah..(You could be..You-can-be-anything2)..You could be..(Yeah you could be2)..anything..just put yo mind to it dawg..You could be..(Yeah you could be2)..anything..just (put yo mind to it..2)..Yeah..Yeah,you-can-bee..anything.. Yeah you could be..Yeah you can be anything.. put yo mind too it dude..(Yeah..you can bee2)..anything...(Yeah you could be2)..(Yeah you can be anything2)..just put yo mind too it dude...Yeah put yo mind to it dawg..Cuhz, (Yeah, you can be2)..anything, just (put yo mind to it2) yeah dawg..You could be..(Yeah you could be2)..anything..Yeah..(you can be anything, Yeah2)..just..(put yo mind to it dawg,Uhh,Yeah,Aye2)..Cuhz,..(Yeah you can be2)..anything..Uhh

So let them busters & clowns joan they don't know what's best for you,Noo, they just jeaslous they just wanna be you, Yeah they don't know..(nothing2)..my *****,There's no right or wrongs, its just opinions..Uhh, so **** em,Yeah **** em all..my lil one stay strong.. My lil one stand tall, my lil one work hard at what you want, because my lil one you can ball..Yeah, when life gets tough & stressful, don't give up at all, just pray to God, even when life is feeling good, you still gotta pray & Thank him, be grateful of your opportunities that come & always keep yo eyes open & peeled because these haters be watching & they gotta alot of demons in their spirit, controlling they mind..
So they will try some ignorant dumb ****, just cause they hate They own life, & take yours so be mindful..real talk..Uhh

Rest in peace Lil Snupe,..R.I.P Chinx & Doe B too..Yeah life is rougher for a real one, especially when the world population is filled wit rat & snake *** ******, ****, Imma just stay strapped up like a lesbian, or Armageddon is tomorrow,Uhh..**** the evils of this world, Noo I won't bow down too em, Imma OFTR Soulja, so that means I'm ready for whatever man, Imma always speak my mind dawg, you can hate it but most respect it because it's blessing, real talk..Yeah..
Ayo, Imma always stay true to myself man, no I ain't nothing like these Devil worshiping faggets,Naw man..Uhh, yall fans of the wrong agenda, ,they selfish, they all some backstabbers.. like Judas..
Yeah, you could be anything ,that you wanna be, but don't try to be like them,man, these ***** made, so called entertainers distracting us from Satans plan of controlling this planet man, they thinking its all fun & games now homie untill they get terminated on judgement day when Jesus comes for all of the real ones, I'll bet they'll be regretting while they burning up in the pit of non stop falling...
so just aim to be yoself man, Yeah,Yeah because Yeah man..

You could be..(Yeah you could be2)..anything.. You could be,yeah..you can be anything..Uhh,Yeah..(You could be..You-can-be-anything2)..You could be..(Yeah you could be2)..anything..just put yo mind to it dawg..You could be..(Yeah you could be2)..anything..just (put yo mind to it..2)..Yeah..Yeah,you-can-bee..anything.. Yeah you could be..Yeah you can be anything.. put yo mind too it dude..(Yeah..you can bee2)..anything...(Yeah you could be2)..(Yeah you can be anything2)..just put yo mind too it dude...Yeah put yo mind to it dawg..Cuhz, (Yeah, you can be2)..anything, just (put yo mind to it2) yeah dawg..You could be..(Yeah you could be2)..anything..Yeah..(you can be anything, Yeah2)..just..(put yo mind to it dawg,Uhh,Yeah,Aye2)..Cuhz,..(Yeah you can be2)..anything..Uhh

My ***** do what you wanna do dawg,Yeah do whatever pleases your heart, ***** you can go far, just put yo mind to it dawg, stay focusing my *****, don't  stop, don't ever let no ***** *** hater block yo shine run they *** over if they get in the way...Like Ray Lewis would do, Yeah **..,Uhh..my ***** my offense, is my defense,too..Uhh,you gotta reach high like you picking up sativa plants from the ground,..Uhh
Yeah you gotta (reach high2)..don't keep no fishy ****** or untrustworthy **'s around ya...stay by yoself if you have to & always stay down dawg, no matter how much the evil offers you..forget them earn yo own income,Yeah dawg climb your own mountain, & call up to God only ..Uhh

Yo dawg, digg this, I heard money brings alot of trouble & drama but that's only if you allow it too man, so don't think that way dawg stay indulging in the positive things living brings to you..Yo, do yo own thing my *****, Aye, don't worry about tomorrow, but think forward, yeah plan yo future out, don't be so simple minded dawg, be yoself at all times, don't follow others, Yeah be a leader my *****..Cuhz, you can be anything, Yeah you can be anything that you want dawg,..believe in the words of this song, my ***** this is more than rap or a poem, this is scriptures, Yeah you gotta always have faith & hope, believe in yo self if nobody else won't..Uhh

***** you gotta..(dream4)..,my ***** you gotta..(believe3)...*****,Aye always keep (thinking3)..about who you wanna be..(Yeah2)..forget the haters put em underneath ya, man they just demons..my ***** they don't got nothing else better to do than make yo life miserable but you are way stronger than they are..I said ***** reach for the stars..reach high..(Yeah2)..because you can be anything , Yeah dawg, Yeah.. You can be anything..(Yeah4)...(you can be anything2)...that you want..
Dream..Believe...(Dream & believe3)..,put yo mind to it  dawg..Yeah
/you gotta..(Dream & believe2)../2
Cuhz, you can be anything that you put yo mind to mane..(Yeah2)..Aye

So let them suckers say what they wanna say about ya, **** em all & go get yo paper,prove them lames wrong my *****, stay in yo zone *****..Uhh, you don't need no friends, you don't need a **, all you need is God & yoself dawg,you gotta stay strong, you gotta believe Yeah you gotta dream, Yeah you gotta believe, Yeah you gotta..(dream2)..enormous,..Uhh..
Because you can be anything,..Yeah, Cuhz, you can be anything Yeah you can be anything.. (You gotta dream3)..,Yeah put yo mind to it mane..Aye..
(reach for the stars2)..Yeah..(reach for the stars*2)..Yeah reach for the stars..dream big dawg
Yeah..Young Ston Poet..OFTR..Aye

You're up again late,
yeah I know.
Smoking **** playing games,
and it shows.
I'm up again late,
cuz man I'm so bored,
lifes too much work,
and too little reward.
No excitement, no danger,
no strife,
but **** it man,
guess that's life.

It kills my high
when venom is spit
This enclosure,
unlike mine,
comes with a ****** narration

Mine hears birds and owls
wolves and crickets and bats
and sees quite often starlight
smells burning wood
regrettably the occasional crisp arachnid
Commonly scents of Cannabis Sativa, rarely Indica
Incense, and punks
There are sights of resin tables,
half-inflated air mattresses,
and ***** on the fence
Cling of fence gate
Car
Cry of relief or adventure
heat
sleep
aimlessness

Feel the fire on your flesh, burning, transforming your entirety
Keeping all your secrets, forever hidden from the ones that you choose to deceive.
And if you feel that he is getting too close, run away…. Far away..
Never be too far away from home, to truly leave.

There in the distance, there is a siren beckoning for you.
She has her hands out to embrace you, only to crush you.
Her velvet dress is plunging down, so deep  you can see inside her.
But, it’s never enough to make her want you as much as you want her..

Listening to the folk music in the distance …
I can feel the agony coming on to me again..
Could it be real “??   Could it be my fault, again.?
Seeking revenge through the strangest of ways.  

The rocks are so real, that the sailors think they are seeing a mirage
But in reality, they think they will truly live past this day
Gorging upon the flesh of the past in the true spirit of the future
Bent, solemn, tragic, metamorphisis of the human character.  
Dig deeper, into the humanity that is no more.

Lifting my eyes to the stained, blackness of  their souls
Freedom beckoning from a distance for miles
Sativa and honey dripping from the demons, black. toothless grins
As I ***** my empty stomach and wretching, green nothingness, human bile.

So go upon your merry way and sing while you die
Feel the ******* anger and bitterness eating your insides.
So then, you walk the plank, knowing your end is near
Never giving in to the blanket of fear.

Tell tale signs of forgiveness, that is rarely real.
Stop the *******, you don’t know how to feel.
You lost  your soul a long time ago, gave it up for a bag
Now your eternity is forever evil and you’ve lost your true life’s zeal

Drifting....
waning, wandering away from myself....
              electric pine and turquoise eyes unfold,
       greeting me,
    a jade leopard winks with those eyes,
an inside joke
in the new moon darkness lighting the room.....

I watch myself levitate into conscious caverns
  in my gray matter canyon
wind tinkles and chimes
( ( ( ( v i b r a t i n g ) ) ) )
the moist,              fleshy rocks...
          memories of sativa green Canada echo--
a family of strangers
      humming, buzzzing & drumming rhythms
tattooing heartbeat sigils onto each other
            amidst a sonic amethyst campfire
          moonbeam embers glow
        indigo guitar strings sing hymns
     swaying and swimming in cuddle puddles--
   a new age baptism.

                             My wings shimmer,
                         visions simmer and chill
             the darkness returns
            left with myself again
        I flight right into another lightbub storm
     as trebble trouble words rain bows of colors
  atop white lilies reaching for stained-glass clouds.


              Distantly, native flutes flourish
       like rippling water rises slowly
                         into incandescent tides...
                      sweet, filagreed foam tickling-
                 washing
                bubbles popping over pores.
           and I rejoice!
         a homecoming for an ocean's drop rejoined--
                         rejuvenated!
                           berserk bongos bump 'n thump
                              a raucous rumpus of blissful voices
                              vicariously lift my visage into everyone
                                   at once!
                                  astral silhouette forms cajole and conjoin and
                                         we     laugh        ourselves      into ******!

And for a fleeting moment...
I reminded of the celestial infinity
that surrounds us,
where time isn't measured in promises
and trees aren't groomed to be currency.
Here, I remember the why of my existence,
only to momentarily forget,
upon opening my eyes,
until delicate deja vu echoes intermittently remind me
once in a while.

What kind of drugs was he on
When he saw the unity of all things?
Which type of kush was he smoking?
Was it indica, sativa or hybrid?

This is a lazy man's enlightenment
To let the plants lead your mind
So whatever you may find
It was shown to you

How many shrooms did Moses eat
When he went up on that mountain?
What stage of schizophrenia was he at
When we thought he talked to God?

Could I jump three rings of density
If I get really high?
Fifth, sixth, seventh and the octave
Clear into a bigger sky

What was Siddhartha smoking
When he sat beneath that tree?
To see all faces in an instant
How he's linked up with me

Home was having my best friend
hold my hair back
because I'd had one too many shots.

Home was listening to him
play a combination of notes
that told the stories of lovers' pasts.

Home was kissing a beautiful dark-haired girl
and laughing because
her saliva tasted like sativa.

Home was a place of sunshine,
peasant skirts, reggae.
Boys covered in dreadlocks smiling up at me from their yoga.

Home was falling asleep
on Vicodin
and sadness.

but now I am just lost.

i've been chasing laughter in **** rips
and pipe hits
for a week now
addicted to that loose,
wild, inexplicable euphoria
a level of artificial joy
that i can't seem to reach any longer
on my own
and i'm fine with it fake
like i'm fine with fake christmas trees now
(though my 8 year old self
would quake
at the thought)
i understand that it's cheaper
easier
less mess,
less maintenance
and though i'll always miss the authenticity
the smell, the feel
i see the charm
in the illusion
now

(the smoker you are,
the drinker you get -
never vouchsafed by this
ill eagle non substance
nor amber liquids
of the dogs imbiber).

as a mathematical abbot
weeding thru bathroom rag
i.e. regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter

on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
more revered than the king’s throne
molded from a gold ingot
which the heady Mary Jane
made more than hit token appearance
and quaffing
inxs of one hundred proof shot,

Nonetheless, boy gnome hatter
her inebriated state,
she still looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry
her attired in drag
at a joint where ****

banged on by the hands
of a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings –
holy marcal scott

the immediate utterance
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still
like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got shot

unwittingly by his own
(confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per the southern cause
during the civil war

and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide
available instead
of primitive treatment he got

as well as other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield
whose faith the any almighty
power could do little to save their lot,

yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that mobius strip
mortally wounded Rebels
and Yankees free from
facing death on a cot

might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip
cotton as king as export to trot
back to lady gaga who

scorches throats yet delivers bagged
illicit goodies with bo diddly squat
narcotic as sweet
as savory kumquat
palliative that hits the spot.

So if you want to know upfront,
Then, you should know
That a reasoned selection process was used,
The music was cherry-picked,
Three perfect compact discs,
Hanging there from the branch,
(Actually CD stack storage)
And me, with a sativa buzz,
Working nicely, grazie mille.
I sit down to write another one of my “fakakta” poems.
The music?
Three crystal gems
Liquid pearls, all of great price.
To wit: (1) “The Best of Joe Cocker,”
(Joe died last year, and
Don’t we/Shouldn’t we
Consider him a close associate,
A kid we grew up with?)
(2) “A Twist of Marley,”
A “Verve Music” product,
Brilliant conception!
Montego Bay gone South Chicago,
A sweet instrumental miscegenation--
A potent, wicked fusion of reggae & jazz--
Manifested by Dave Grusin,
Gerald Albright, Lee Ritenour, & Others.
And last, but not even close to being least,
(3) “MILES DAVIS Kind of Blue.”
Lest we forget Norman Jewison’s
Homage to Mambo Brooklyn Italiano
Cher & her wacky greaseball family:
The Castorinis.
The Cammareri.
The Cappomaggios.
Did I hear someone say “*** Stereotype?”
Bam! A double “Moonstruck” slap,
Just to remind you:
“I’m talkin’ here.”

Lest we forget:
Coltrane blew tenor sax
Both March & April 1959 sessions,
Columbia 30th Street Studio,
New York City.
And if you've heard
"Freddie Freeloader," a
Sizzler solid 9 minutes & 49 seconds,
I think it’s probably a good time
To go check to see if you
Left the garden hose on.
BAM!
Now do I have your attention?

We pensive Boomers--
We take stock.
We ponder the clock, a
Vexatious tick-tock
Arctic soundtrack,
Music in the key of winter of
Our discontent/content.
YOU MUST CHOOSE ONE!
Time to script your buggering off,
Time to settle in
On an exit strategy.
“Yes, hurry up, it's time.” screams T.S. Eliot,
From an English major’s
Vast wasteland archive.
The scoreboard reads 4th Quarter now.
We ruminant Boomers,
Facing up to it at last, are we?
To be or not: a serene letting go, or
“Rage against the dying of the light?”
Dylan chimes in:
Thomas, meet Thomas.
Oprah, Uma.

So you should know upfront,
I got a great buzz on.
The music is groovy.
This poem ends here.

Sorry, dude. I must admit
I find it more than pathetic
That you experience life
With sorrow about some of it
That you don’t have a drug
To take to help appreciate
Something that is amazing
And really needs no chemical
To help you exaggerate
What is really going on
And pretend it is better
Or somehow transcendent
As if water can be wetter.

But it is as if time warped
And I have gone backward
To talk to myself about it
And then zapped forward
To see what a saturate
What a wet-brained fool
I was back then, it’s true.
I was a tin-plated tool.
I measured my existence
One dime bag at a time
Giggling with stoner friends
About my forays into crime;
Selling backs of skunk ****
When nobody else had any
Good stuff or bad stuff.
And I was the one with plenty.

Walking through Hollywood
With stoner friends and flakes
Singing as we stumbled along
About life and what it takes
To satisfy *** hounds those days.
***, drugs and rock and roll
And pride in our half-witted ways.
Learning how to roll pinners
Of a buddy’s stash on the sly
While he was taking a whizz
And couldn’t ask me why.
Learning how to properly treat
The remaining sticks and stones
And confiscating the roaches
When the others left them alone.

That was the cannabis coalition
The Sativa Society at its height.
We worked in the daytime and
Got ******* most every night.
And sooner or later, on the job
In the bathroom or on the roof.
I didn’t think of it addiction.
I still needed further proof.
I needed to try to buy ****
From a government man I met.
Fortunately I bailed on that
Before adding one more big regret.
Life has gotten better since then
No more outside dependence.
I quit before the drugs became
The entire focus of my existence.

after you drink, enough as i have, you get the strangest
recipes enter your mind...
               and you're not as lazy a marijuana smoker
either... you really start imagining things,
that aren't, or shouldn't be there, but later materialise,
and are actually there.
                  like tonight,
                  **** me... getting drunk can really give
you the munchies...
                i was like: it can't be as simple as crisps
from a packet... it can't be ready made, there,
at an arm's reach... so it began:
                                              bacon,
     ­             cherry tomatoes...
                           garlic paste...
                 crème fraîche!  
                       parsley to garnish!
                             pickled chilies!
            turmeric!
                     kashmiri chili powder!
            processed cheese! (laughing cow type)...
           i swear i missed something...
   oh yeah...  brassica juncea - or mustard greens,
   something a bit like lettuce...
     but if packaged, also includes red cabbage snippets...
plus arugula (eruca sativa), also a plant / rocket...
         and the carbohydrate canvas to serve it on?
                                                         a tortilla!
i swear, i should either stop drinking,
or stop drinking up recipes, when drunk...
  either that, or what i'm tasting, when drunk,
tastes really good, or that... well... if someone sober
would dare to eat what i conjure up drunk, would simply puke...
don't know, i conjure this recipe out of my ***
and it stays down... it's not like i'm frying a dog's ****
all of a sudden...
           if it stays down, and you get to digest it?
it can only be as bad as it sounds, with you not having
****** around with the stated ingredients, to whatever palette
of proportion that your palette's suited to entertain.
    don't know, i swear no marijuana smoker would
go as far as to invent something like this...
            you drink... you do get hungry...
                                     and then you experiment,
for some ****** reason that no one seems to be able to explain.
i get right into cooking something up,
      primarily because when doing chemistry
at university, the most enjoyable chapter was organic chemistry...
and that was like cooking...
i can't say i'm boasting... i don't know if a sober person
would find this recipe appealing...
            but having made it drunk, i'm pretty sure
another drunk would eat it and conclude the same as i:
****** genius... never take me to a kebab takeway... ever again!
                    oh gee me...                             clap clap.
by now i might as well insinuate that i'm faking
  sniffing lines of ******* by the buzz of positivity i'm feeling.

I owe my grandma 2 grand, the chronic abusing man
Drinking straight liquid THC if I can
Agent Cryptic the heart stroker
Thought provoker, the ATF sativa smoker uh
I like to praise Jesus in my stanzas
And these cheeks I'm turning em
The modern bard, throw down hard
With the Dialogues in my library, your philosophy is contrary
I'm not a shy Jew, for I am in service to you
When I fall in love, I can only go up
Ask the Lioness, only left cause of stress
She tried to help, then I put the Chuck Bukowski on her
(Why you wanna... choose drugs over me?)
Girl you crazy? The details, hazey
No time for manipulative ****
Mess with me I'll toss you in the Tartarus pit
My emcee act it's, hella bombastic
These lyrics I spit make your soul ecstatic
So if you wanna know how I flow, these Phi seeds I sow
With the bass low, making your speakers blow
Then let me get down

This rolled growth of sweet Mother Earth,
now between my fingers I hold
her breath, bated, much like my worth.

Barefeet and barebones, renewed dearth
of repose, sanity consoled
by role - growths of sweet Mother Earth.

I’ve worked sweat from my brow, my girth
diminished. Love sits in green bold -
her breath, baited, much like my worth.

We consume each other. Rebirth
my sunken pulse from mellowgold,
this growth of mother. Rolled sweet earth,

up in smoke around Cheshire mirth.
With numbed senses, today I’ve sold
my bated breath, much like her worth.

And so we journal language, like Firth,
while The Sativa Saint extols
this rolled growth of sweet mother earth,
her breath, bated, much like my worth.

Senhor da Guerra, há quem diga que teu convite é
momento de lírica destruição, outros não.

No entanto, tua embriaguez sativa, num boteco lado norte,
evoca atmosferas oníricas bem como o gosto maravilhoso
do éter no ar.

Sorte lançada, põe sob a mesa teu mistério particular,
arranca teu olho direito e migra para o luto mineral,
potência comum & iniciática.

Bem ao estilo Venusiano, crepúsculo forja flor entre cinzas
& plasmas siderais, sem dúvida uma nova era.

Essência de difícil captação, tua oração evoca Papoula
criativa, bronze no banho-maria, o pó projeta pedra
líquida no sublime espírito do vinho.

hehehe
tumble roll
roll a joint and
pack my bowl and I've got
a bit of mental lag so it's a
little hard to pack my bag 'cause
I'm a little fried maybe a little
charred even, totally
baked, I'm a cake frosted
but I haven't lost it,
Sometimes I'm a little confused
but I'm still baking!
whole wheat **** infused
chai tea orange zest cookies
yummy sativa,
a dash of indica but
whoa!
mmm they're
dangerously delicious
and one, two, three,
oops! that's four and
one more, they're just
so good! if only I could
stop!
but yummm
sat nammmnomnom

There are things we can write
With your coccyx as the nib,
Picking you up like a pen by your ribs
Pick you right up and they'll fill you with ink
And give you ample time to think

I watched the craggy old man at the far end of the bar besiege his liver with absurd amounts of *** and Coke. It was entirely classless, like he was drinking his obsequies in plain sight of everyone. Not that ‘everyone’ amounted to much– it was a Tuesday, and there were seven lost souls scattered around Nightingale’s. Four of them were shooting pool. Big arms, tattoos, Harleys out front. Another two were puffing cigarettes through their fifties, probably talking about this ****** generation of kids and doing lines of 80’s nostalgia. A few seats from them was a loner (sporting a white braided ponytail and a rawhide vest, you know the type) sitting by himself, looking very divorced. He was engaged in conversation with the bartender, a black-haired ***** with enough experience. Occasionally he’d throw some whisky down his throat. Keeps the fire going.

But it was the sorry ******* in the corner who interested me more than anyone else, mostly because he had such blatant disregard for his own life. I watched him guzzle his eighth *** and Coke since my arrival. He was moving around so much, it was a wonder he stayed in his seat.

The light caught his addled face. You could see that maybe once he was handsome, but time had forced him to wear bad habits out. It made me wonder how. How and why.

“You know, all that Coke can’t be good for your bones,”

Awkward as hell, but it was the best I could muster. The words hung in the air, dry as scotch.

“You realla think I give a ****, dude?” he slurred. He sorta twitched when he spoke… I got the feeling he’d been at this for a while.

He belched loudly.

I let the stench of alcohol, depression, and **** excuse my hesitation.

“Well, why don’t you at least change it up a bit?”

I ordered him an old-fashioned. It really didn’t make a difference. The man was going to drink himself to death anyway. You could see it in his eyes.

He held up the drink loftily, considering it. He smiled wryly and looked at me.

“Thanks,” he said, and gulped the whisky down.

I began to grow unsure of the whole thing. Coming to this ****** pub, talking to this reeking old man… Hell, moving to Denver at all. I’d come here to forget things, but had yet to find anything of real substance to push old memories out…

He slammed his glass down heavily on the bar.

“You smoke grass?” He lobbed.

Interesting.

I followed him outside and tried hard not to be obvious as I inspected the joint he passed me. Not wet. I guess it’s fine.

“Do you live around here?” I asked, passing back the joint. The quality of **** surprised me. Strong sativa.

“If you can call this living…” answered the most depressing man in Denver.

I couldn’t take it anymore, so I just asked him.

“What’s wrong, guy? Why are you so **** sad?” I said.

“It’s really ******* stupid,” he said, turning. “It’s actually ******* insane.”

I pulled on the joint and waited for him to spill his guts.

“A long time ago,” he went on, “I was a lot different. I used to kiss all the pretty girls and make 'em cry.”

He sobered up a bit.

“But then one came along who I won’t forget. Too wild to be tamed,”

He looked down at the sidewalk and tossed the roach at it.

“Lost my ****. I rammed my car into that *****’s house and tried to take off. 'Course the five-o caught up with me and I ended up in jail with two felony counts.”

“**** dude,” I offered, “That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, I was a ******’ lunatic. Stopped caring after that. Been bouncing around ever since. Can’t get comfortable. Can’t get a good job.”

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

Nothing interesting happened after that. Bruce went on about his ex for a while, speaking highly of her. He told stories about days they shared in Pennsylvania. He told me all about her art and writing, and how he had obsessed over her for years, making her into a metaphor for death and loss. I listened to him ramble for quite some time, but after about half an hour I stopped caring and had to take my leave.

I lied to Bruce and told him I had work early in the morning.

When I got back to my apartment, I collapsed onto the futon and looked dramatically up at the ceiling. I got up and went to my desk. I opened the little drawer on the left.

I pulled out Nora’s picture from underneath my paystubs and saved bills. I thought about Bruce’s story and the smell of **** and alcohol. I felt pity for him– pity I didn’t want anyone to feel for me. Still, there was a clog in my throat and my eyes stung with emotion.

I sincerely hoped that Nora was having a great time in New Zealand.

I opened my window and let Nora’s picture fly into the unfamiliar city. I collapsed back on the futon.

It wasn’t comfortable

ah yeah
beautiful ladies
stretching up to the sun
what a gift
this little ****

see uh I been a grower
for some time now
grow that types a ****
make ya mind bow
gettin lower
on that cheeba
no not cheva
this is a killa weeda
so many strains
make ya heads spin
you like to stay up late
or get all locked in
see it don’t matter
which way ya wanna go
indica or sativa
I treat ya right, bro
see here in Oregon
we do things different
work a barter system
help each other pay rent
call me a socialist
like a give a ****
you be at my door
when ya havin hard luck
I’m a medical grower –

Son, I grow medicine
stopping censures
killin cancer
out my freezer
alcohol extracts
make all ya'll relax
no mo heart attacks
rushin like the train tracks
I grow medicine –

I grow out door
like that plant was meant to be
no chemicals
let that ***** grow free
feed em organic
lots a guano
watch the buds rippin
from the back po
see I’m a real farmer
have a long patient list
always lookin to add names
get the money makers ******
so I don’t charge much
just cost no overhead
I aint in this to get rich
that’s why I got this rap bread
I’m a medical grower –

Son, I grow medicine
stopping censures
killin cancer
out my freezer
alcohol extracts
make all ya'll relax
no mo heart attacks
rushin like the train tracks
I grow medicine –

ink bleeding all my love out
most thugs dont just run towns
i remember what my pops told me
before i ever held pounds or the mammaries
your mind is whatever you put into it my spawn
so i only put sativa fry coldwine and this bullet
and the darkness fading fast-Satan lasts on my own
now
yet  im bound to out grow it
holy enough and banned from heaven
im the reincarnation of second tries
life to waste on avenging the rest of nine lives
seven taken out and passed around by the gods
sew me back together and try to sober me up

in big bold gothic lettering
peace in the name of the lord
words that are worth only remembering
by the pain on my back this pain that is
peace  
and being a servant of the lords
cast out of society by the mark of the serpent

The bills you get from an ATM located in a Headshop called the Refinery in the Valley are not going to be the same that you cash out of your local Wells Fargo.
They've been used before.
You can almost imagine the staff feeding the all-cash green you give them back into the machine (once a day when things are slow).
These are just facts.
When you say you don't want a 3:1 you want a 3:0... They show you a 3:1 anyways.

You know, the marketing system has really changed.
I get a discount for bringing in two newcomers.
My coworker keeps saying we are buying 'drugs'.
I tell her 'it's not "drugs";
even before the legislation passed, all you needed to say is that you had cancer and they would drive away ashamed for asking'.

I tell the staff I want something that will get me through the day,
nothing too crazy and I don't want to fall asleep.
I end up with a 3:1 CBD hybrid again.
I pay my 101.00 for the hybrid and a bit of gummy 50/50 Sativa and indica hybrid 'for the road'.
She giggles.
I remind her we have a whole department dedicated to this **** now,
she should act more professional as she selects her joints.
My other coworker gets a salve because his joints have their own problems.

Just another day with the work-family.