Tag Archives: John Biscello

Sunspots

Did you catch that latent glimmer out of the corner of your eye, that fugitive spark? Sometimes, a piece of the sun longs to mate with a certain quality of air in such a way that a marvelous and undimming … Continue reading

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Will There Be Cake?

Life, a molecular slideshow and Bardo movie set, generating the most epic proofs of art and illusion, where you, as viewer and participant, are invited to enjoy and celebrate ephemera’s transient take on Creation’s never-ending birthday.

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Promissory

At the commonest altar, a stone is laid. A voice asks you to turn over the stone and find your name. You do as you are told, and then inform the voice that there is no name to be found, … Continue reading

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Peal

If, by carnal you mean a song of skin’s peal and riot drumming itself known to light and liquid, and how they congeal as totemic sacrament, then yes, I will take your pulse wherever it leads.

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Middle School

Sssssh! You can’t tell yourself, but you have a crush on God. Between classes, in the hallway, you see her leaning obliquely against the edge of a wall, books shadowed in the crook of her arm. Your eyes track her … Continue reading

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Goonies Forever

Let no one, ever, tell you what your destiny is or isn’t, or allow their criterion to influence and determine your course of being— There is so much you inside you, so much vast, unexplored country which calls for your … Continue reading

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Signed, Sealed, Delivered

You can, if you wish, file a million and one embittered complaints to the Universe, but none will bring the strange and mysterious results that a single shred of glimmering gratitude can, its kiss the tenderest seal upon symmetry’s origins.

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Storytelling

Void is boring, a dull throb. It has no stories to tell. And yet, from the gaping orient of emptiness arises every story imaginable, a turning to peaks and sea-changes galore. It seems, Void is the company we are destined … Continue reading

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Between Despair and Hope: A Song

Unnamed, deep, dark, the immaculate root-base from which the muted call to home signals an exile’s longing to claim merger, absolute.

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Starfishing

In the hazy evening smolder (somewhere there is a fire, sirens sounding alarm) you dream of her as a jellied starfish suctioned to your face until breathing becomes a revised species of flirtation and you relinquish your lips to the … Continue reading

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