Roger Reeves, “Pay for soup / build a fort / set that on fire”

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

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