You continue because of it

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, bullshit

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 shit

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 sucks, 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