I vote with a clean pair of heels heading heedless,a rat fleeing a sinking ship,for the border:
A milling multitude,some dare Agadez heat,mere dregs drifting along heartless Sahara for the sea for the watery grave.
Others, living-dead in dank dungeons of tardy ships,stowaways drunk on heady whiffs of exotic dreams steaming in the spits of the eternal moment.
I sell my soul for a halfpenny to hitch a hike across the Great Pond for a toehold in paradise:
But now the noose tightens,the land turns adamant,and my roots wither. Here,the left has left leaving the right to write all wrongs. They smoke me out, a shrew stinking the place to hell.
O my crime is colour, hard border that fringes my lot to the return hub for home.
@ Chris Anyokwu. August 14, 2026
