This John Grey poem is creeping up on us.


He casts more shadow

than the average person,

but less love than a roach or rat.

He was the child

who bullied others his age

just by being.

In his teenage years,

he was the pimple-cheeked outlaw.

As man, he’s governed by

the gutter and the moon,

and he’d willingly swap

his arms for tentacles.

His lookout is his attic window.

His hunting grounds,

The city streets.

You’ll see him sometimes

loping along like a two-legged leopard.

His head is swaddled in cobwebs.

His clothes are stained with blood.

About the Author

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Stand, Washington Square Review and Floyd County Moonshine. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Santa Fe Literary Review and Open Ceilings

About The Artist

emoc is an enigma

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