Marvel

Posted on April 23, 2018 by
As a child,
the thinnest greenest
wisps of air
held
tiny totemic figures
of me,
carved from sheer terror,
aloft,
and I pretended,
o how I pretended
to be the biggest strongest
bravest boldest
of them all,
a clown-saint crossing
a tightrope on a unicycle
while juggling flaming balls
to the sound of thunderous applause
which kept me in the air
until the war outside my world
coming from the next room
broke in
reminding me
how very small I was
and I fell down
and away
from everything I longed to be

 

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 Marvel

  1. erroneouschoices says:
    April 23, 2018 at 11:58 am

    So sad and so real.
    Definite sense of being there

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

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