I feel sometime like ’89 and others 1962, through each Alice looking glass I pass and see, ’45 and 1923 roaring in and out of me, whistling down some avenue near 5th and Main, see how I’m blue and full of pain and the year of sometime begins again, but where I share this little note with you I do unto others too.
This quill still drifts downstream ringfencing dreams and it seems like ’45 again when someone breaks a pane in the glass and Alice, poor lass with a fortune on the stock exchange and Robin in the Palace servicing or giving service to her majesty, oh jeezus what a shame and ain’t it sad that rich folk had the lot and poor Alice though we know she’s not as skint as that squint eyed git in Whitehall thinks, thinks Christopher changes his guard more than enough.
It’s all and more and the whore of where Babylon used to be has moved into the chancery and now we’re all in it.
I or a bit of me laugh gleefully, but that’s because I’ve been touched by the Sun.

© 2015 – 2016, John Smallshaw.