West 12th Street

My brown knees bent, one single leap, a short hurry-scurry wiggle upwards, and I was wedged into the oversized doorway of this cathedral which has shadowed Kansas City streets since 1882. I was poised like a superhero, until someone shouted, “Spider!” Then I was squashed by an old woman’s shoe.

Victor Clevenger spends his days in a Madhouse and his nights writing poetry and short stories from the kitchen table of his ex-wife’s home in Missouri. Selected pieces of Victor’s work have appeared at, or are forthcoming in, Chiron Review, Blink Ink, Rat’s Ass Review, among several others. His latest collection is titled, In All These Naked Pictures Of Us.