The Ghostman by Jonathan Jansikok
The tyranny of the past sweeps over tent city, baking in the sun, undulating waves in yellow light. The ghostman crouched against the wall stares at me with dark eye sockets wrapped tightly by the sun’s deep exhale. His left arm outstretched before me. His right hand floating above the forearm like he is playing a sideways harp. I sit and listen, but the asphalt burns more than his sad song. Continue reading The Ghostman by Jonathan Jansikok
