It's in the air, there's a bonfire nearby
the man who knows how to keep his wife happy
will bring the washing in
for a stone's throw around
animals that can move will move
but incriminating evidence takes longest to burn
and animals must live on their nerves
I know from experience
having cleared a jungle for an envisioned garden
painstakingly hand-copied musical notation 
combusts quick as the diary abandoned in February
and spirits set free as ghosts of smoke
are short lived as nightmares
rushing to an end being all of their nature
there is no washing to bring in
and no need to shut the vents
Don't you quite like an acrid aroma
of heaped years passing in a flash?