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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
May 2017
Seven years luck
Instinct
distinct
from indistinct
he thinks.
methinks
he thinks
too much.
I am being bullied by
the voices in my head
chattering indistinctly
or is that
distinctively instinctive?
'give me a break'
I said,
my arm's now in plaster
a distinct disaster.
The world is spinning faster
perversely
I'm
slowing down.
Old is the new black
the truth is
going back to a youth is
impossible.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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