In the film of my life
I play a cameo role,
a lost soul
looking out from his
When the jet goes through the poodle
which looks awfully like a cloud
and the poodle dissolves into a puddle
I’ll breathe out aloud, but let the puddle rain in
because Birmingham’s full of woe
if not in either place
then where would the puddle go?
d’ya see what happened there?
a brain slip
a little off key trip
but still music if not poetry.
They’re still casting parts for the film
I suggested lead weights and a long line,
they ignored me
I’m back down the rabbit hole which
is nothing to do with
© 2018, John Smallshaw.