Again, again, the tiny and faulting / corsage of days /
Snake oil rubbed on the joints of your mouth / come
On Victrola in the corner of this evening / no more
Slow songs / the docks are filled with the same sorrow
As the thunder rotting above us and none of us can swim
Through lightening or the pea-green soup of the ocean
They say a hand over the heart keeps a storm away / well
What keeps you here / buffalo-tongued and haunted
Like the empire of dust making its way into our mouths /
Stop building a fort / you have already set that on fire too