it's a bit cold
I'm sitting by the margin of the river
Fishing
A bit upset
There were too many fish who escaped
my nets
I sigh
throw 'em again
wait
I catch one
pull it out and stomp on its golden head
rip it apart from the body
and drink its blood
...
Yeah, *******
I'm sitting in the office
night shift
supervising casinos through
CCTV cameras
it's 05:53
and I'm ignoring work to write poems
like this one
and something always comes up
and makes me forget my ideas
The phone rings
Some customer causes trouble in some casino
Some other customer is suspected of cheating
A bouncer falls asleep on his
chair due to lack of activity
The game attendant flirts with a customer
There's a bill fallen on the floor and I've to
determine its owner
A bunch of idiots are being too loud
Some other idiot keeps demanding alcohol
but his bets ain't worth ****
and so on
and on
and on
And the goldfish escape through my fingers
and the eyes of my nets are too wide
and that just *****, man
It really does
But I pick myself up
and tell myself what I always tell myself
A writer writes
A writer writes
A writer writes
Just like a fisherman fishes
And you don't stop because the catch
is rickety
You continue because of it
https://terrorhousemag.com/superstitious/