The stars indelibly printed on obsidian reams of sky, a course in illuminated text by which we redeem the necessary canticle to cite a gilded theme. Advertisements
To constantly grapple with the past feels like strangling a mannequin, your hands sacrificed to false intimacy and the empty reaping of love’s labor by unreal standards.
Upon a citrus-infused sky, bright and sorry, the dance of acidic vapors and serpentine ravels, assuming the burden of a faceless woman, basking
It is the quiet history of touch, tendered through years of symmetry and fable, a radiant pulsing in the spaces between fingers, holy derived, charging us to mercy and enclosure.
Excerpt from Nocturne Variations: I think, the bottom line, Piers, is that one’s protector is or can become one’s destroyer. Angels are monsters in wait, same as monsters are angels awaiting transformative context. The two are one and to divide … Continue reading
Posted in Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged golem, John Biscello, Literary, nocturne variations, novel, piers, Prose, shadow, shadow play, soul
If I were to go tomorrow, and by go I mean no more spells of wonder, or lines leveling a manic fate, no more ancient fireflies like safety pins fastening us to thin, thin dreams, all our hollow and chaste … Continue reading
Show us where it is you’re dying, the silent ebb and roaring tides of dark, expose to us, with a scalpel’s exactitude, the finite lineage of your deepest wounds and locks, and we promise that the light’s searing of naked … Continue reading
Wrapped snugly in a blanket of godlight, Thursday’s child indwells the symmetry of tigers burning bright to leave tracks on empty.
Starstruck, and wrestling within mortal coils, God’s lucid fame overshadows the cast of our solitary arc.
With the grave mortal nearness that only distance can bring, we enter the bruised, secret heart of our childhood, a stalker’s negative proof, slow-burned to exposure and fade.