#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