Old Wine Skins

Waiting now. Again. More often than not. Tho’
How many times has the scribe been prodigal?
Too tired to set down the spirit’s dictation.
For he is but one cracked pot. Not worth pissin’ in;
Shouldn’t expect to be chosen as a vessel of the
Winebibber’s miracle, less some transubstantiation.

So he sits alone upon the shelf biding time,
Which is the whole point after all: if full, waits
to be emptied; if empty, waits to be filled again.