I watched the black rain from my window. It spilled down the pane in tarry streaks, a Malevich canvas. I watched the flowers gently steam and wilt. The dark water spilled down onto the road and into the gutters. It flowed into the sewers and thence to the sea. There it merged with chemicals, plastics, dead fish and carcinogens, taking its rightful place amongst humanity’s leavings. Black rain spilled down my cheeks in tarry streaks. Continue reading Black Rain. A poem.