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B E Cults
Poems
Apr 2020
myna
skipping rocks across still ponds,
the gods are comedians.
entropic,
my coffee is still hot.
middle fingers to a walk of shame.
you all get lost like bats in a thick fog.
so let me scratch my scrimshaw
in peace, please.
i write for the ghosts of my past lives.
that's why i leave ink anywhere but on the page.
Written by
B E Cults
30/M/hendersonville tn
(30/M/hendersonville tn)
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