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Meta
Tag Archives: grief
Bone Jig
Posted in Artwork, Audio, photography, Poetry, Prose
Tagged art, Audio, grief, mother, Spoken Word, story, words
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Doll
Nineteen rifles and the village was burned to the ground nineteen rifles stolen by rebels and then came the awful burning down what was called scorched earth policy. My mother my father my brother were burned down to the ground … Continue reading
Watchword
Grief lies here like an insomniac pining for sleep. Like scissors running dull to the touch of fate. We paper over grief its ruins and brittle slates with hordes of torn pages. Forget me nots band aids christ sporting a … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, photography, Poetry, Prose
Tagged fate, grief, installation, mercy, paper, rocks, scissors, words, yoko ono
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Mothlight
It happens like that. Slow baked, sudden bubbling, no cauldron, face up in the vortex. You become days of mourning. A pall, a viscous grayish veil. You can no longer see clearly or purely. Vision pales, angel eyes gone. You … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged cycles, days of mourning, grief, moon stuff, Poetry, Prose, purge
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Echoes Extended
Grief attends to the bones. And does so listening to the spaces between the hollows where the ghosts are held hissing where loss compounded by fractures gives rise to near distant voices crying out on behalf of all that’s gone … Continue reading
Process of Echoes
Grief attends to the bones. And does so listening to the spaces between the hollows where the ghosts are held hissing where loss compounded by fractures gives rise to near distant voices crying out on behalf of all that’s gone … Continue reading
Long Haul
Grief lies here like an insomniac pining for sleep. Like scissors running dull to the touch of fate. We paper over grief its many wrecks its brittle slates with hordes of torn pages. Forget me nots band aids christ sporting … Continue reading
Where on Earth
Nineteen rifles and the village was burned to the ground there were nineteen rifles stolen by rebels and then came the awful burning down what was called scorched earth policy. My mother my father my brother were burned down to … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged doll, grief, living and dead, medium, Poetry, Prose, story, tragedy, village, where on earth
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Keepers
Grief lies here like an insomniac thirsting for sleep. Like scissors dull to the touch of fate. We paper over grief its many wrecks its graying slates with torn pages. Forget me nots band aids christ sporting a porn stache. … Continue reading
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged dead, grief, living, pages, Poetry, Prose, rites, word
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Metronome
It doesn’t take much to become days of mourning. This world provides plenty of opportunities to convert one into days of mourning. Then days of mourning becomes weeks of mourning. Months of mourning. Years. But it begins with days of … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged days, days of mourning, fragment, grief, nights, Prose, woman
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John Biscello 