Tag Archives: boy

Time, Travel

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

The boy sat on the train that would take him to the station where he would catch the train that would take him to the airport where he would be lifted away from everything he had been dreaming in real-time. … Continue reading →

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Rites

Posted on October 5, 2023 by John Biscello

From the series, Japan Poems Down by the river, a boy and his grandfather– Soft grass grows through stone.

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The Dream Outward

Posted on December 12, 2018 by John Biscello

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. It helps. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it makes things worse. Or keeps everything the same. Which is a different kind of worse. Anya I long to reach you only because I … Continue reading →

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Boy

Posted on July 28, 2018 by John Biscello

I am a young boy, fated to innocence, walking through the lavender mist of Time’s softly slipped dream, every grain of sand a stitch in the marvel of kingdom’s comely veil.

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Level

Posted on July 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Girl, I will write you for a long, seething bask, Light seeks its own level.

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All Those Who Enter

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

The young boy asked me, What is it exactly that grows in the cavehunger depths and wilds of the heart? No one knows, dear boy, it is the most hidden and magnificent of countries, all I can say is that … 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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Froth

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

There was pulsing, and founting, the sea caked around her ankles like silky ribbons of froth. It was just a dream, but still I found her, throbbing through dawn.

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Breeze

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

It was the way she danced with words when no one was looking, the slant and tease, fastening my burn to the summer dress spelling out her form to my fingers, their covet to brand and possess, breezing lightly the … Continue reading →

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Riddle

Posted on April 22, 2018 by John Biscello

Did I enter her, or was I the door walked through? Savor the riddle.

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