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Don't Tell Momma I Got High
Don't tell my momma I got high
last weekend, on the lake by the waters edge
on a truck beside a boy
with black hair
and tattoes
and good,
good weed.
A bubbler, he said.
And we didn't do a thing,
we might have stared at the trees.
And talked about things we can never know,
like how it all ties in together. The what.. the why..
the point of speculation...
I remember my fast-beating heart
as I clenched fists together,
and rubbed my palms, thinking about the light
that has finally reached us
after light-years. The stars.
How strange we only just now see.
And what if the star has died..faded out.. Imploded..collapsed.
Then are we seeing ghosts?
I think I thought about this.
It was good, good weed.
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