when the wind smells like light you are so tired you could fall out of your skin living is only appropriate when lightning is wearing stilettos grandma is brandishing a knife of lust & death is cross-dressing in my darkroom when the wind smells like light i write the word ellipses on your dinner napkin butter is only appropriate stuffed with bullets & a last chance how many candles does it take to post office your generation o grandma you cigarette you beehive in the toilet don’t sit where you fornicate or the frog will lick the sepia honey lust from between your eyes