The wind smells like pepper tonight -
something to do with Halloween and
the weird inspiration of Grandma and
her old-country ragu.
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The wind is wet tonight -
crying at her own disorder
and begging bursts of rain
to help her clean her room.
-
The wind is soft tonight
because she's in love. Plumeria
and papyrus pant for the taste
of a rum-bloodied mai tai.
-
The wind is unafraid - Newtonian
apprehension outweighed by her love
of kites, and desire to taste lava
chased by cooling sea-foam shots.
-
The wind is solemn tonight, tugging at
the mussed skirt of a garden-center
St. Francis and making "If this, then that"
promises in plaster of Paris alcove.
-
The wind is lusty tonight - breath
playing at pinwheel roulette and brushfire
bellows, and pushing relentlessly at the
groaning chains of Victorian porchswings.
-
The wind is magic tonight -
making puppet shows, whirlwinds
and old clapping hands using piles
of dry leaves and legerdemain.
-
The wind is tired tonight,
rasping out her smoker's hack
in trashcan-lid Morse code amid
resinous pine branches.
-
The wind is lonely tonight -
her injured vanity keen to be
stroked with tales of lantern-lit
cotilions and flickering lighthouse vigils.
-
Tonight, the wind is.