Attic Fan

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