Beats the hell outta me.

...pickled onions and powdered glass while the rising moon echoing clashing off drifting coastal fog horns blaring belching warnings frightening seagulls shitting on tourists spreading coconut oil over pasty flabby skins glistening in mid-afternoon heat cooking gum on a sidewalk side-crawl side-show side-winder twisting turning another cheeky bastard cut filed and labeled in a cabinet in a cabin on a hill down the river across the way back when a gallon of gas was a nickel plated wrist watching waiting hoping against all hope Arkansas brothel where I first met your mother ship shaping horn of the bullshit excuses for pasting labels around necks on bottles of pickled onions and powdered glass while the rising moon...