Tag Archives: dream

First Steps

Posted on February 21, 2018 by John Biscello

It is not about holding her perfect, just so, in a prescribed manner, but rather, can you slowpour your breath into one another’s hips and clefts, while swaying? It is the mutual pressing of scars together, a controlled friction that … Continue reading →

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Sunder

Posted on February 20, 2018 by John Biscello

To leave sheer vowels and sudden clefts upon the warm, dream-wet infinity of skin, so wherever she goes, whenever, sundered verses will marvel as placeholders.

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In Praise of Honey

Posted on February 19, 2018 by John Biscello

Listen to the spoken word track (with bass and flute) here. If your body, sungthru riddled and sticky, demanded rechristening for old time’s taste, down I’d go divebombin straight to and through the Source— a treebranch’s wellhung honeycomb totem, ridged bulb … Continue reading →

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Anya in the Forest

Posted on February 11, 2018 by John Biscello

   In the dream my mother and me are sitting in the lobby of a restaurant. We are waiting to be seated for dinner.    The hostess comes up to me and asks me if I am ­­­ ________. I … Continue reading →

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Silent Night

Posted on January 10, 2018 by John Biscello

The ongoing rabble and cinematic narrative in my mind is finding how nourishing and full and tender the heart can grow steeped in silence alone.  

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Wellspring

Posted on January 10, 2018 by John Biscello

Through the grace of repetition, the writing life grounded in the slow, wistful measures of wellspring’s fortune.

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Fullness

Posted on January 8, 2018 by John Biscello

When the clean quiet fullness of your heart rises and begins to drown the rabble in your head in white light, within and without become clear matching mirrors.  

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Young Forever

Posted on January 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Anya and I had almost three weeks. The flirt and tease of a young forever. It felt good to be with Anya in this new way. We were no longer ourselves, we were ourselves as a couple, this third and … Continue reading →

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Boneyard

Posted on January 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard, in order to reach the garden.

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Night-Thistles

Posted on January 7, 2018 by John Biscello

I could feel the music of a slow future dying inside me. And the past very much alive, like shimmering beatific flowers, like luscious night-thistles. The past is a changeable feast. Except it is a feast that eats and eats … Continue reading →

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