Burn the yard. Set off the grass at one throw.
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The flames damp and slow.
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Fell the trees. Grind it all down to the pulp.
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The hot dirt smoke.
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Or stare out at the road - switch off the lights.
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Bloody hands. Take the house down to the ground.
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Hundreds of thousands of pounds.
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Splintered skin. Breathe through the old barren frame.
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A low, loud sound.
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Or stare out at the road - wait for full flight.
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Air sucked through the roof - the clouds, the moon and stars.
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Attic Fan
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| Namelessnumberheadman |
