Border town
Perhaps the quiet ones have a volcano
under their tongues
thin boy in the corner
flicks matches at
at his wrecked shoes
his voice stollen from him
at birth
where is his country
the music sticky as honey
magnolia petals float
in the ditch
their color mistaken for bandages
for a fire that won't start
a boy who finally stands
spent matches all around him
like a halo
or a moon
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