The Hypocritic Oath, under Quarantine

by James Winchell

Far be it from me
To pretend otherwise:
It’s a jungle in here.

Fourscore and seven
Years ago: My
Father brought forth

That little voice inside: When
This you read – you’ll all but find
Yourself in a worldly tale

Of lice and men: An altar-
Splashing current – Most
Devious and ex-stream.

When this you see: I will
Remember me – A frag-
Ment of your imagination.

So – In Case Of Emergence: See
What must be brought to bare – Lies
Beyond the scope of the present work.

For the ancient Greek “poésis” means:
“To make” or by handiwork “To fashion” –
To form a less imperfect union.

And now we are engaged:
In a grate. Aye! – There’s the rub-
Bing alcohol. Aye! – There’s

The rubber crutch: Those
Gently worn by history are
Condemned – to re-scent – all Ozone

As we know it – to re:
Peatmoss wastelands without regard
To grace, greed, or dolor.

James Winchell will no doubt remain an enigma. He lives in Walla Walla, Washington, which also remains serenely enigmatic. Sally Lelong is a visual storyteller working in a variety of media that lend themselves to use in a conceptual framework. She lives and works in New York, and routinely exhibits her work in a variety of settings from print to thematic installations to street art.