Tag Archives: angel

Birthing Slivers

Posted on November 21, 2022 by John Biscello

She came to me when I was a child. Let’s say when I was two, no three. She came to me when I was three. That is me, aged three, centuries ago, someone else’s tears crystallized into this frail pulsing … Continue reading →

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As Below, So Above

Posted on August 3, 2022 by John Biscello

She came to me when I was a child. When I was two. An angel with massive wings which, when extended, generated a musical whoosh and siege of air that felt like a hurricane to my small world. My small … Continue reading →

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Rending on High

Posted on May 24, 2019 by John Biscello

The angel is not nice, nor sweet as pie in the sky or Disneyified to package the ecstasy as something more benignly palatable, no, the angel is radically explicit, unfiltered, and true to its cause, exacting the swiftest deepest means … Continue reading →

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In the Belly Of

Posted on November 25, 2018 by John Biscello

In the softest pit of my belly, the masticating angel, the glowing renegade with milkbone teeth, eats me alive, and spits me back out into the world, half-light, half-silence, the happy miscarriage of identity winnowing the essential me from I.

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Lure

Posted on November 25, 2018 by John Biscello

He had traveled many crooked side-streets and shadow-scripted back-alleys to arrive at this point. The white-hot lure and bait of the angel, who had played hard to get, beckoned, with an ineffable wink.

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Wings and Prayers

Posted on August 30, 2018 by John Biscello

“Armed with burning patience, we shall enter the splendid cities.”–Arthur Rimbaud Piers, rocking the morphlife, growing her wings. Nocturne rising. Pinkmilk dawn on its tender heels.

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Live from Eden

Posted on May 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Her talk of bruised skin, and how it caught fire on the far side of trespass, fascinated me to no end. She wanted to burn clean through, didn’t want to hear any more talk about cooler heads prevailing, or stubborn … Continue reading →

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Tryst

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

The last time I fornicated with an angel my porchlights blew and we became tranluscent sheets of merger rising above a glassy pool of chartreuse reflecting in cursive the lighted gist of our holy remains. God, I’m open to another … Continue reading →

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Lucy

Posted on April 22, 2018 by John Biscello

Renegade angel, pissing golden light, to be obscene not herded.

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Pearl

Posted on March 29, 2018 by John Biscello

Drowned at a young age, angel to a sunken arc– find her pearl-diving.

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