Tag Archives: dream

Girl, Flame

Posted on April 16, 2021 by John Biscello

She is there. She is always there, in the corridor. And she is lonely. This much I know. Lonely as a form of cold that you cannot cover with blankets or insulate against with coats and scarves and such. And … Continue reading →

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Into the Blue

Posted on December 22, 2020 by John Biscello

I have been scratching at air since I was a child, and have had the good fortune of feeling into words that have fallen out of thin blue nowhere– And these words I have gathered, or to put it more … Continue reading →

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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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Door

Posted on August 6, 2018 by John Biscello

There is a legend of a door hidden from hearts– How stones, unturned, scar.

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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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The Gospel According to Ice Cream

Posted on June 25, 2018 by John Biscello

Perfection, this life’s greatest untruth and maligner, see how ice cream summer-melts and runs like happy magma down the ridged wonders of a waffle cone clutched by a child like an edible prayer destined to disappear, one bite at a … Continue reading →

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Unwrit

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

I fall in love too easy with phantoms and projections, spectral imprints that pool twilight in their arms for a living. Where people are not, I find myself digging and searching, clawing profusely at beautiful stones until my nails are … Continue reading →

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Cavespeak

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes it is like surfing the gloam and reaching down to draw softly rounded syllables from curdles of gray in order to raise the heart’s homesick climes from its deepest and most hidden caves.

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Roots

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

My heart, forever the weeded ace and wandering fool, scored to secret pines, sings of resident gloam pooled in that forest of backlit signs, which grows beyond its clipped horizons to invigorate departures, spurred by the genius of wordless roots.

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Forecast

Posted on June 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Ask the divine wordless forecast, ask the motherless child staring off into the distance as she sails a paper airplane out the opened window.

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