Desire by Any Other Claim

We were walking scarside,
had been for a long time.
The wind sounded like fading bells,
the air smelled of singed salt.
I asked her how her heart was holding up.
Good, she smiled, it’s floating jellyfishlike
in a pool of warm liquid.
That’s where I drown my ______________.
The way she spoke blanks, like concrete flatlines,
stopped me. And drew me closer to her void.
I always fell for and into women’s voids,
headfirst, heartfirst, groinfirst,
it was hard to tell the order.
But absence was a death’s-head elixir, a potion
made from pines, bones, and frozen bees.
I told her–Did you know
that the closer you get to a black hole
the slower time runs?
Is ……………… that ……………….. true ……………
she slo-moed her speech and movements, a dying reel
equal parts eerie and comical.
When she resumed regular speed, she kissed me
hard and quick, a hummingbird on high.
It was at the far edge of scarside
that she asked me–How is your heart doing?
I considered this, then responded,
My heart is _______________.
That’s where it’s most comfortable.
She smiled, I think savoring the jittery draft
of blankness, its throbbing drift,
then she stepped away
as I leaned into her void,


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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