Mouth

That mouth,
I remember,
an evocative nursery
of lost things,
a fierce swallower
of galactic bulbs
and starburned roots,
it took in so much,
didn’t it?
announcing to the belly’s
slowchurning greenfire,
to the lips bluequiver icegarden
riot,
I am Memory
upon which you feed
and source,
remember me to my
my most violent pink
and dying suns,
remember me to the words
which have yet to come
and spell you
out
in sheerest hymns.

 

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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 two novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale and Raking the Dust, 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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7 Responses to Mouth

  1. Remember me to words which have yet to come. I love that

    Liked by 1 person

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