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Meta
Tag Archives: hips
Empire Strikes Back
Her hips began the snake-dance, the spasmodic wiggle. She told me to listen closely, and her hips began hissing a slow cadence, the world losing its air, the world a depleted lunar asthmatic in need of oxygen blasts. My … Continue reading
That Thing With Feathers
As she moved her bladed hips beneath him, small dark starshaped birds tore out of her hips, scissoring the air, and were then immediately sucked back into her hips, as if by an invisible vacuum. He stopped, and … Continue reading
Pirate Radio
Hips don’t lie. They are the truth-telling giants and the whistle-blowers transmitting through pirate radio. They are also the catacombs and weather satellites of one’s cumulative genealogy. When an old person falls and breaks their hip, it is not … Continue reading
Gremlins
I can no longer remember where I was when it happened, only that it happened, it must have happened. Sometimes we cry silent recordings in our bones, or guts, or maybe it is our hips that are the primary … Continue reading
Hips Don’t Lie
Posted in Audio, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged body, dreams, fear, fragment, grief, hips, memory, pieces, Spoken Word, what we hold
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The Dance
Her hips began the snakedance, the spasmodic erotic wiggle. She told me to listen closely, and her hips began hissing a slow cadence, the world losing its air, the world a depleted lunar asthmatic in need of oxygen blasts. My … Continue reading
Hips Don’t Lie
The hips don’t lie. They are the truth-telling giants, and the whistle-blowers transmitting through pirate radio. They are also the catacombs and weather satellites of one’s cumulative genealogy. When an old person falls and breaks their hip, it is not … Continue reading
Hips
I can no longer remember where I was when it happened, only that it happened, it must have happened. Sometimes we cry silent recordings in our bones, or guts, or maybe it is our hips that are the primary storehouses … Continue reading
Dare
Shelling, till hips grafted a wild rush of air, bone rubbing against empty, this flint, improvising a dare.
Sway
To sway, with corset no more to bind, hips parlaying grace, to rivet greening desire.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Desire, grace, Green, hips, John Biscello, love, Poetry, Rivet
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John Biscello 