A girl speaks with her horse
and not much else
under the yawning trunk
of a mini van
under pink skies for tank tops
the long sky forgets me
and fading pals
calling come on dude,
believe in our movies!
from the windows of rusty cars,
off to smoke pot
in Mark Twain's tomb
on another day
I won't be in
and I'm left with
memories containing
just our outfits
cheeseburgers floating
where our mouths once said
"what's up doggy" and
two pairs of blue jeans
kneel near a baby's bottle
in the sand.
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