Psalm #12

There I was trying my hardest

Not to do anything much at all

When a pen found its self in my unsteady hand

And slowly it started to scrawl

On these longer days I go drinking you see

Uncaring of what that might say I’ve become

At my age after all what harm can be done

By a white wine or two in the afternoon sun

It’s late evening already inside of the painting 

At the bar Bryan Ferry is crooning

Outside in the street there are poets 

And the end of the world is looming

Serious people for serious times 

Sharing their thoughts with their shoes

Sharpening their swords on umbilical cords

While their pens write the day before yesterday’s news