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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
May 2020
Parliamentary piffle
When the curve is flattened
doesn't that mean we are dead
or have I been on too many machines
in hospital drama scenes?
And from the
Houses of Conspiracy
come
soundbites biting soundlessly
eating away at me until
the division bell tolls.
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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