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Hello! I am botanist currently associated (or, more accurately, taking refuge) with the Serpent's Hand. Call me Kush. I specialize in growing weed and a lot of people in the Hand come to me for weed. Because of this, I have smoked with a lot of interesting people; some of whom have inspired poetry.
So enjoy my poems about people I got high with. Or poems I wrote while high? Or both? Something like that. I forget.

He hasn't been the same
He's been distant
Constantly in his own world
He cannot say what happened
"It's confidential"
Of course it is
He doesn't look at anything
Staring at something
Where there is nothing
He usually won't look at you
By that thing
But, sometimes
He'll look right at you
And you can almost see it

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