It’s
twelve forty five, past midnight.
It’s late and
i with my
toxic thoughts
take a turn
around my brain.
I have questions about
nuclear waste,
purulent green,
producing
seething heat.
Seeping up from
the ground.
Seemingly something
beauteous and awful.
Drink not the green.
Stay away.
But,
what about
this spill?
What but
death?
The photo is from Pixaby. Thank you Mish for the prompt: signs. Gosh, it has been so long that I can barely remember how to work with format or anything else. I also hope that I can remember how to publish at D’Verse.