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For a flake of my life, I was a flake

to my friends ‘cause all my friends were flakes who

hated technology – ignored text pings,

kept blunt wraps in backpacks, love rhombuses

‘cause she’d tripped acid with him and he’d made

out with this guy’s boy before on the docks

where we’d sit and smoke squares into the night

‘til the light or pack was empty, shooting

the shit, drooling at stars, stunting our new

Buddhist beads, not looking at our cellphones

and feeling lustrous for it – really we were

dickheads, and there was silence after

they broke up, and the foreigner flew home

and, just like before, one text was too much.