I have begun to name and catalogue the different types of dark.
It helps.
Warm-dark, cave-dark, void-dark, womb-dark, sleep-dark,
Eros-dark, blank-dark, siege-dark,
and there is the anonymous dark that gets in your head
and behind your eyes and in your lungs and constricts your breathing;
curse-dark, which casts a heavy prolonged spell, a pall;
there is also lonely. Naming it doesn’t help, not in the same way.
Gnashing, teething, bristling, ranting, raving—
all, in this momentary wreck, becomes black with tumult.
It is the dark I forgot to name.

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 johnbiscello.blogspot.com. Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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2 Responses to Dark

  1. Shimky says:

    Powerful stuff, John. I won’t say anymore – I want to think about your words.


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