#5 by Scott Cumming

I writhe in white man’s ennui
there has never been a fight for me
my actions come without fear
no prerogatives, no agendas
no righteous indignation
swathes of vanity cradle me
A system rigged
for hundreds of years
the prejudices
the rituals
he so-called traditions
through it all
only one sound heard
the clinking of coins
louder than words
offering more than the herds
A cynic
A hypocrite
life a fabrication
in hock to corporations
words and world built
to hem us in
I have nothing new to offer
I could join any march
soullessly saunter
selfishly ponder
how nothing will ever really change
these institutions going galactic.
Scott Cumming never considered himself to be a writer until recently, but turns out he has some stuff to say. He has been published at The Daily Drunk, Punk Noir Magazine, Versification, and Shotgun Honey. His poem, “Blood on Snow”, was voted the best of Outcast Press Poetry Things We Carry issue and his debut poetry chapbook is due for release in December. Twitter: @tummidge Website: scottcummingwriter.wordpress.com