Phenomena

Tyrone Graham
Jul 25, 2017 · 1 min read

Sleep kept
the city around me
as I pierced the darkness
with feet and senses,

Trying to lose my soul
down any old manhole.

He
appeared before me,
wild-haired, wilder-eyed,
ragged, tattered,
mud-spattered,
ravaged

And scary.
I am chary

Of sharing the street
with people I meet,
and turned around
to run —

But he ran me down
with gibbering sounds

From foam-flecked lips.
He gave me the creeps
till he advised me
to “Kill Five”

(my lucky number
for diverse reasons).

Then I saw he was a friend
and linked arms with him:
we were two of a kind,
of one mind.


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The New North

// Home of storytellers // Facebook: @thenewnorth

Tyrone Graham

Written by

In the beginning was the word. And I got paid for it.

The New North

// Home of storytellers // Facebook: @thenewnorth

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