Runcible Spoon

poetry and prose webzine

Poetry Prose Submissions Contributors Home heart logo Privacy Notice Links John Grey



The air is pitch-black.

The mood’s the same.

People look at me like I’m crazy.

I’m sorry for how I appear to them.

Or blame God

though that’s never a good move

here in Texas.

Meanwhile, shadows start

to get aggressive,

nip at my heels like wild dogs.


It’s a big city.

My head near bursts

just thinking how everybody here

must have a name.

All except me that is.

Mine’s on the tip of my tongue

but then so’s the red dot

where I bit it.

I hear rumors

there’s some muggers

in the neighborhood.

It’s a shame I got

nothing they’d want.

Just a pack of unruly shadows.


I don’t belong anywhere

especially not to Houston.

Civilization dropped me

like a stone.

I laugh from time to time

but more like an old man

than a boy.

I find everything funny

that isn’t trying to kill me.

The shadows bite

but they mean nothing by it.

So I laugh at them as well.