In My Solitude

It is, for me,
as well as other writers
of a certain breed,
a familiar haunt
and barbed echo,
that fear
of being found out
and exposed
as a fraud
and imposter,
some busted metaphor
that won’t hold up under the hot glare
of lighted scrutiny,
as if,
a writer,
stripped bare
of the words
architecting that paradox
of naked and hidden,
will show
no one there,
no one
except maybe
that lonely, terrified
at the heart of it all,
who, from the beginning,
the solitude
of who he was
and who he wasn’t
to the sheer power of stories
and the beloved company they keep.


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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4 Responses to In My Solitude

  1. teemadzika says:

    I understand this feeling.


  2. Auroraboros says:

    Beautifully penned… This is a fear so many of us feel and are driven by… Creating substance to demonstrate substance, worth from words (and vice versa).


    • Yes, well said, Aurora. Worth through words, as if the weight of one’s soul resided there. Of course we are so much more. Or less. As in the less-is-more phenomena of it all : )


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