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.