Sickens me,
To be a prisoner in my own home.
Smog dancing in the night,
Floating from room to room
Back and forth.
You are not welcomed here.
Begone and let heaven pour.
Let it fall on us all.
Drench our soul with the cold.


One thought on “Smog

  1. I don’t know why, but I expected many crossings out and alternatives on the page rather than a final draft. There is something magical and forbidden about the craft of a poet. Seldom do we see anything but the final version of a poem. This is of course as it should be, and yet… I found myself wondering what that first worked and then reworked again page may have looked like.

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