Silhouettes are just so effing beautiful that I start fires just to see 'em.
Throw matches in the gas tanks of cheap cars if there's a crowd near enough by.
Stop watering my yard in the hopes that a dry heat will spark the brush.
I market myself as an electrician to poor saps looking for work on the cheap,
and I never sweep my chimney.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem