Category Archives: Uncategorized

Prehistoric You

Posted on June 7, 2018 by John Biscello

There is, perhaps, nothing truer than the myth of one’s own innerlife, a revolution, rapt and lidless, the carnivalesque autobiography of spirit, endlessly turning upon, and twinning within, the Soul’s vanguard and prehistory, unsigned.

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Tend

Posted on June 7, 2018 by John Biscello

To be given over, again and again, to amen, upon this earth, to bind renewal, through wonder tended, by savor’s witness.

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Soulfeed

Posted on June 7, 2018 by John Biscello

You are here, she said, to take a tentative chance on the infinite, to teethe, lovingly, on the numinous zipper of a star or two, to gamble away innocence with a fortune teller’s palm, grinning stigmata, and not a single … Continue reading →

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Calling

Posted on June 6, 2018 by John Biscello

To imagine, I was here, to dare, marvel’s slow calling, before I disappear.

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Storyless

Posted on June 6, 2018 by John Biscello

There is no story greater than the one you don’t tell yourself, silence and lighted space inviting wonder and mystery to pool at the center of who you are beyond facile descriptions and prior claims.

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All and Sundry

Posted on June 6, 2018 by John Biscello

To consume, tenderest bulbs of Beauty, alighting on one’s bluedeep hunger, to swallow, whole, the garden’s rooted bounty, greenfire and all.

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Not a Sonnet

Posted on June 6, 2018 by John Biscello

I can go on. Sometimes you fall off the edge of a sentence and find another one waiting for you there, like the billowcushy arms of a cloud-woman, or keenly lighted wraith, and you can go on, holding hands with … Continue reading →

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Cask

Posted on June 6, 2018 by John Biscello

It was, in a state of psychic undress, where I found I wanted to reveal, more than to confess, scoring a litany of wounds, and bruised valentines, to the expectant cask of woman’s fired dawn, beyond reproof, and failsafe fronts.

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Milk & Angels

Posted on June 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Slotted between worlds, a living wake, whitefulness encroaching like a milkspreading cape of ocean, the requisite baffle and glare, It must be the angels riding in mounted on Mercy, you think, and you wait for them to turn the corner, … Continue reading →

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Claim

Posted on June 5, 2018 by John Biscello

We slowdanced in a house of mirrors. Some of the mirrors had been burned in fires and showed black. Others were webbed in cracks. Still others bore dimensional distortions leading to instant surrealism. When I asked her which of her … Continue reading →

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