Tell me again about flat earth, give me the spin again tell me we’re static.
I’d disagree because what are friends for?

In through the window and out the revolving door, give me that spin one more time.
And don’t I just love it when friends can talk bullshit
it gives living a meaning.

This poets society mostly pissed with an eye on me and me with an eye upon them, tall men, young girls and women all with a piece to say, I wish I could hear them all.

Limited though it may be
my time is an endless sea
of faces and places of prose
and of poetry,
of you and
of me
on whichever planet
we’re on.

© 2016, John Smallshaw.