At the speed of light the need for light is redundant.
a flash of inspiration just to ease the darkness of my situation and I am vacant in the columns that march on Gaul.
So much passes, past and what time is it now?
am I nearly there?
should I wear a suit, a shirt and tie or why would I?
as you find me
and tell me
poetry about roses smelling sweet
what street are they on?
and I am
as you found me.
© 2018, John Smallshaw.