Eden

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It was no longer Eden,
but the bones of Eden.
They looked around, they glummed
and chimped, they moped and wondered.
Then what they did, ably penitent,
refugees in their own backyard,
they screwed to no avail. They
screwed and screwed, the strident
conjugation of the lonely and the damned,
tried to screw their way out of
and past the desert spleening blues,
tried to abolish Memory in briny paroxysms.
Was it like that?
A constant and necessary
giving and receiving of fire through flesh
and flinty roil?
Did the seeds pop and sputter
and spin like so many disco grains
among soil and waste?
It was no longer Eden,
but the bones of Eden.
Out of the dust
came the first ever
loveletter between bodies
and husk.
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About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of two novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale and Raking the Dust, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at johnbiscello.blogspot.com. Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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