Random signals

Stimulants that stimulate
that simulate excitement,
uppers in between the
tragedies we all have seen
filed away

lift the childproof cap and
we all converge along the corners
where life can walk along with
barely seen and never felt.

Tinker, Tailor, Norman Mailer
books to prop you
read to stop you
words to mop your brow,

and anyway
has a complaint to
complain about every day.

I followed the star
it led me to an Inn,
a bar
no stable,
no straw
no baby and what’s more
the beer was warm

not a wise move.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.