A Blunt

I smoked a blunt last night,
The twitchy boy who’d sold it said not to,
Smoke a whole one, only a few draws, tokes,
He’d used the word “tokes” in his twitchy hairless,
Voice, only a few and I’d be travellin’ on,
But I didn’t feel the need to listen, after all,
His business seemed to need me more than I needed,
To economize the draws, so I had smoked on,
Travellin on, blown on, a tumbleweed then,
A blue-green-brown, round tumbleweed blown,
In the fat smoke, woke, woke to no certain something,
If there is somewhere to travel after,
Then I suppose I’d travelled there, where,
When morning finally kept up her morning song,
I awoke and found my whiskey glass still amber,
Just a midway down from full, just a midway down,
I must have given it release to go travellin’,
I must have traveled far and deep, that blunt,
Like a canoe over still waters, must have borne me deep.

About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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