In these parts,

we mainline moonglow.

It’s what we do.

It’s our thing.

We shoot moonglow

directly into our veins

and our blood becomes gospel

as we start to sing hallelujah

and glory-be—

We dream daytime dreams

of phoenixes burning colors

into cakes of riot and ash.

All it takes is a lunatic and a match,

as they say.

We hear galaxies crashing in our veins,

and glittering cosmos becomes us

in relation to the dark matter,

and zeitgeist,

we duly absorb and digest.

We are not right in the head,

we can’t be, but we are heart-ready,

growing gardens to seize our own wilds,

and we longer seek indirect or oblique guidance—

We mainline moonglow

until it is coming out of our ears

and asses,

snaking blonde rivulets

down our cheekbones,

until our eyes

have been burned clean through

in becoming lighthouses

emitting white-hot particles of mercy

into a world

that wonders

where on earth

all that wattage

coming from.   

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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