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Meta
Tag Archives: Light
Night and Day
In the fasting age of the world’s lengthy night, hunger for reclamation projects, and restoration of citing visions long overdue– all is stilled to know the suture of light, moving quietly across tenderest stitches, upon which symmetry is duly derived … Continue reading
Choir
“… even in the darkest times we have a right to expect some illumination . . . This may well come less from theories and concepts than from the uncertain, flickering, and often weak light that some men and women, … Continue reading
Desire
Within the rounded sermon of the inanimate, a favored coursing, by which light spreads its wordless fingers upon the world’s private longing.
Music
To the call of light, Music, unending, beckons you to harmonize.
Red Balloon
A red balloon says so much about the sky, and the weightless wonder of children, when desire, bated aloft by the sun, gives free-spirited chase to the play of light on basking reams of nimbus and lore.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged childhood, clouds, floating, John Biscello, Light, poem, red baloon
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Wisp
She believed there was a place for her, a venerated quarry, or wedge of corner, somewhere that wouldn’t be overlooked by the gossamer sentience of light falling. (Photo by Cindy Sherman)
Posted in Artwork, Cinema, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged church, cindy sherman, John Biscello, Light, photography, poem, untitled film still
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Light
Leave your favorite mug out in the sun for several hours. Bring the mug back inside and sit on your favorite chair as you drink the light that has collected inside the mug. Feel your stomach glowing, and tell yourself—I … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged drinking regimen, idleness, John Biscello, Light, to your health
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Hello, Goodbye
The day she traded her worn cross for a feather the air kissed the light.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged air, airing out one's burden, John Biscello, Light, poem, proof of love, the unbearable lightness of grieving
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In the Belly Of
In the softest pit of my belly, the masticating angel, the glowing renegade with milkbone teeth, eats me alive, and spits me back out into the world, half-light, half-silence, the happy miscarriage of identity winnowing the essential me from I.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged angel, eaten alive, I is another, identity, John Biscello, Light, rebirth
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