Tag Archives: angels

Strange Angels

Posted on August 10, 2022 by John Biscello

The days fly into the blue and disappear, and your mind, in its memory-making, contains the disappeared days as film archive. I want to set fire to the archive. Burn all the films. Watch the celluloid twist and incinerate. I … Continue reading →

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Upon Closer Examination

Posted on July 23, 2022 by John Biscello

There is a slow burn to holy. The headwaters of holy froth and burble and fizz and speak scandalously in serpent’s alabaster tongues. Do not mistake symbols for metaphors. Do not mistake doors for exits. Your dreams need not possess … Continue reading →

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For Melody’s Sake

Posted on June 24, 2022 by John Biscello

It is a call, a calling. Lost voices committing mutiny to service seasons unknown— Strange wingless angels of mercy and memory, the blue ones, sounding the call, a calling. Melody hosts its own discipline, and we, the fragile disciples of … Continue reading →

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If Angels

Posted on December 23, 2020 by John Biscello

It isn’t easy to mend broken wings. It takes time and something else. Ask any angel you see walking down the street weighed down by unspecified cargo, or, those that are touring the backs of their brains in search of … Continue reading →

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Likeness

Posted on June 18, 2018 by John Biscello

slow beating ache keeping time to breaking lore and softcore myth rising to tease and strip heaven’s knee of its skin my god yes spit and blood and light and yes remixed to teach you and me what angels be … Continue reading →

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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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Bliss

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

To follow your bliss you must kiss your demons squarely on their mouths lancing their sealed lips with a flaming tongue perpetrating tango between worlds where love consumes every last thorny bit.

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Torn

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

All the pearly angels, torn, and wept, like so much confetti in a storm, papering a small world, where heaven closed off to rapt, and cherish got hopelessly lost.

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Electric

Posted on April 22, 2018 by John Biscello

Trespass, skin on air, fornication with angels– Who turned the lights on?    

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Emily Dickinson

Posted on April 12, 2018 by John Biscello

At the severest hour, everything fell within. A banquet hall after the crash, after the deluge, and you, a mouse, courting lull, tracked pawprints in flour, stalking floorboards for crumbled manna. You, the mouse, with slow heaven firing your eyes, … Continue reading →

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