Winter Adagio

Nightwalk in a small town.
Moonbleached adobe
set against
the snowglobular shakedown
of flakes,
as if dandruff
from the itchy shaved scalp
of God
was falling,
a phosphate rhapsody.
Along the road,
mudskinned snowdrifts,
like albino coal-miners, crouching,
or dispossessed humps
banking the puddles
of bootsuck slush.
Not even nine,
the streets empty, and the silence,
tracked to easy on the eyes
lamplight amber,
buries itself
in deep pockets
and folds.
Suddenly, a feeling takes hold,
and I am convinced that I am
the last living creature on earth,
a soloist
a stark open womb,
Winter’s milk-pink voice,
an elliptical hush,
birthing softly an ode
to its sometimes love,
so soon departed.


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 three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, 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 Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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