At the end of a day

Those inhibitions are likely to kill you
and you’ll never know,
will you?

One in the eye
and a Cyclops passed by,
pay him no heed
you can have what you need
you have only to let yourself go.

Don’t ask me what this means,
I only write
it’s the ink that thinks for me.

The days are getting longer
time gets much shorter,
shrinking like me,
the ink thinks that too
in fact
whatever I do
it’s the ink,
the ink.

© 2019, John Smallshaw.