Tuesday, September 13, 2016


The heavens are tainted with your signature,
your speedy snail trail lingering
in the morning stillness.
The glorious canvas
becomes a voting card
for your polluting illiterate cross,
scrawled in white.
It was not my vote;
I did not agree,
I gave no permission
for your intrusion,
you have stolen my sky.
The vapour invades
with insidious, odious
until the morning reclaims
its space.

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