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An Ode to Your Kief

I dropped your grinder today and watched the crystalized green explode into a Hiroshima-like bubble before the air swallowed it whole, leaving me with a half-empty brass skull with teeth that

crushed your buds all across the world on chilly February nights like this one, after a long day of work and pasting smiles and faking small talk; I bent over the inanimate face cracked open and peered at the silver-green insides lined with copper dense with the smell of herb so strong that I could practically hear the spark of your $1 lighter as it lights your late night friend before you pass it down to me too – I held the two halves of the face and put it together, feeling its magic dissipate from within my clasp, too aware of how familiar this is to the morning I wrapped your face in the coffin feeling your skin under my fingers for the last time but knowing that all the magic from within was already long gone – like the you that rests with the tombstone, this little grinder twinkles to remind me of how it once held remnants of you but a blind eye in the wrong moment stole that from me and you dissipated into the world while I crouch over an empty grinder.


“I was emptying myself but unknowingly knocked you over too.”


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