Monthly Archives: December 2017

Dam

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

  She swallows stones, or is made to—what feels like a martyred plunge of boulders. I am, by proxy, crushed. Is this what is meant by god-dam? The circulatory flush of light to dark dammed, and no god gets in … Continue reading →

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Glean

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

It came to me, a pensive glean, a vision. Tomorrowtime when we, the Inners, will no longer just be metaphysical whispers  or codified concepts. Tomorrowtime when the Outers will have found the means to extrapolate us, to call us into … Continue reading →

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Golem

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

To become more or less human, and right now I am less, much less, palsied, unlit, a compulsory golem riveting shallows and depths.

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Plaything

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

Wafting from afar, the intimate rumor of a divine toy, a cryptic plaything, implications in tow. A tonic and pacifier of blank rages; buoy and anti-freeze to sudden plunges into sub-zero climate. These conditions cannot be bested, but they can … Continue reading →

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Dark

Posted on December 16, 2017 by John Biscello

I. 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 … Continue reading →

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Dance

Posted on December 16, 2017 by John Biscello

I get so sleepy and restless and roiled and charged. If only they knew what they called world was simply a clusterfuck of particles dreaming of dance partners.

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Arclight

Posted on December 16, 2017 by John Biscello

Bidden by tatters, and gravity’s mutable arc, the palpitations guide me. They are subtle, duly engaged, a milk-slow run of shivers. Bracing the rim, I peer out of cavedark: everything is sudden, color-soaked, a ferocious din and melt, fringed shawls … Continue reading →

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Deluge

Posted on December 15, 2017 by John Biscello

It is both pleasure, and an epitaph to pleasure, at the same time. When the phenomena occurs and the colors run and slash and slit down upon me in ravels of deluge. Spring-green, shell-pink, sky-blue, bled-red, egg-heaven, grief-yellow. I, a … Continue reading →

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Pour

Posted on December 15, 2017 by John Biscello

So much light poured in, so much passive worth.

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Draft

Posted on December 15, 2017 by John Biscello

There are no mirrors here, yet everywhere I see myself, a bated draft of furls, each bearing the right to exist, and respire ably.

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