~getting away with everything by Vincent A. Cellucci &
Christopher Shipman is now available!
Join us virtually, Nov. 13!

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A female delinquent spoke. She described how her male beast was a cock artist. “It lives inside my brain. A Twisted thing, it tells me its secrets – dirty and unclad it hides behind objects and silences. It satiates victims for amusement.”

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preceptors of sheltered cause
and promised libations
 
plexities aroused
​of a yearning to bother.

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To be honest there was no before story. Not one that was written down.

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Fax a copy of your driver’s license, fax copies of the death certificates of long passed relatives mentioned in the debt paperwork.  Fill out the questionnaires, all of them.  So many people to please, so many people to pay.  All those supplying required services require compensation.

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in a state of des(re)pair  our crawling forward blindly to nowhere  
at a tipping point too often chalk outlined   Vitruvian-
splayed post-
mortem on an urban city street   made to feel the press of hot asphalt

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Robyn resembled Liza Minnelli and belted out a bit of “Cabaret” to anyone who would listen. I listened. She took a fast fancy to me in a bar one Saturday night, but when I learned she was nineteen I waved goodbye being thirty-two.

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up and down the street,
some pay with a bruise on the face,
a blackening of the eye,
a few just hide
from the fake storm

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When the hood is removed, I am standing alone on a small stage in what appears to be a long-neglected theater. Totally dark, except for a single footlight directed at my face. The two shotgun-wielding kids are positioned on the floor directly below me.

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With these grievous events upon our collective experience, how we respond is how we will go forward. Sycamore’s introduction encourages us to “talk about everything, so we can feel everything. Let’s feel it all, so our future remains possible”

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angry, fierce
with pockets full of bullets
and cyanide capsules.
There were just not enough
of either.

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Myself and the rose. My body a light-bender; you reach me through photosynthesis. Rootedness, tongue in my mouth, a reminder:

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It’s just an excuse to get nearer the whales, and especially the dolphins. We can’t keep them here, you see, because of the high amounts of sulphur in our atmosphere which would fry them straightaway.

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