Runoff, or, Here There Be Tigers

My desire,
running the length
of corridors, unwitnessed,
untouched, smoldering
in resident ancient bake–
Here there be tigers,
clawing at the sun’s
scorching midriff,
gutting the fame
from light,
until there is
no longer
any difference
between molten blood
and golden dust,
here there be angels,
and interlocked
in God’s double image
of cherish,
engendered by words
running wildly off.


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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7 Responses to Runoff, or, Here There Be Tigers

  1. This is not just liked but loved, yet there’s no love button, it’s among my all time favorites.


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