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Monthly Archives: October 2022
Mothlight
It happens like that. Slow baked, sudden bubbling, no cauldron, face up in the vortex. You become days of mourning. A pall, a viscous grayish veil. You can no longer see clearly or purely. Vision pales, angel eyes gone. You … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged cycles, days of mourning, grief, moon stuff, Poetry, Prose, purge
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Scratch
Once upon a time before people were monsters. When people didn’t eat each other. Out here we’ve got to be careful. I defected. I became fugitive singular. I defected from plural, from we. I defected so as to claim I … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged calamity jane, dust, fragment, i and we, Prose, sad dust days, singular pronoun, the road
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Fall
In autumn’s brisk grief, leaves flashing briefest raptures to seed elegies.
Vagrant
Near to the bone warming and wildly grazing in solitude not lonely but rather alone in the company of words stories voices enabling vagrancy within most cherished intimacies rooting me home.
Pasture
Near to the bone wildly grazing in solitude not lonely but rather alone in the company of words stories voices enabling my vagrancy in rooting me home.
Dipper
Solitude warming in the company of words– Shorthand for spooning.
If God
We’ve heard rumors that God doesn’t know he exists. She exists. It. Whatever the gender or genderless you get the picture. God doesn’t know there is such thing as God that he is this thing we call God this blessed … Continue reading
Where We Played
You must remember this: the force of all things moving commingled with the ephemera of all things passing. This the spell the grail the gist of what I am after which is also after me. The stalker stalked while pursuing. … Continue reading
Echoes Extended
Grief attends to the bones. And does so listening to the spaces between the hollows where the ghosts are held hissing where loss compounded by fractures gives rise to near distant voices crying out on behalf of all that’s gone … Continue reading
Process of Echoes
Grief attends to the bones. And does so listening to the spaces between the hollows where the ghosts are held hissing where loss compounded by fractures gives rise to near distant voices crying out on behalf of all that’s gone … Continue reading
John Biscello 