Tag Archives: love

God’s Word Against Mine

Posted on December 28, 2017 by John Biscello

And on the eighth day she was diagnosed an Artist, and saw that it was good and fierce and necessary, and went forth creating like a madwoman, rattling gravity shackles to the din of furor and crumbling towers within.

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Double Exposure

Posted on December 27, 2017 by John Biscello

   I tucked my hand into Anya’s armpit and guided her into the bathroom. I closed the door behind us.    Anya immediately dropped to her knees and began puking into the toilet. A lot of it splashed onto the … Continue reading →

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Praise

Posted on December 24, 2017 by John Biscello

Quite simply, the curlicue flake of snow kisses the child’s lashes, and winter’s slow hidden pink marvels in its own tender praises.

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Coyote, a Christmas Story

Posted on December 24, 2017 by John Biscello

Get on with your dying, Coyote urged. It is time. I was scared. I was scared of the unknown. I was scared of letting go. Scared of dissolving my identity. Who would I become? That is the nature of metamorphosis, … Continue reading →

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Endear

Posted on December 23, 2017 by John Biscello

Sometimes a word scratched in dark ink onto a page is the loneliest sound in the universe, and yet, what beautiful solitary company these verses endeared to mortal failings.

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Wendigo, a Winter Story

Posted on December 22, 2017 by John Biscello

       A man in a bulky white parka is running across a snowy landscape.    The hood pulled over his head is lined with seal-gray fur.    He is wearing plastic goggles that are caked in frost.    … Continue reading →

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2-Sentence Horror Story

Posted on December 22, 2017 by John Biscello

Will you marry me, and promise to be mine forever and ever? Yes, she agreed, one foot in the grave, the other scraping forward.

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Innocence

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

Blindly, blindly, blindly, she reaps every choice from my scythe and asking. I live with brute innocence and murder in her heart. I am not her child, I am her fiction, her sad fable and paling wrath.

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Glean

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

It came to me, a pensive glean, a vision. Tomorrowtime when we, the Inners, will no longer just be metaphysical whispers  or codified concepts. Tomorrowtime when the Outers will have found the means to extrapolate us, to call us into … Continue reading →

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Plaything

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

Wafting from afar, the intimate rumor of a divine toy, a cryptic plaything, implications in tow. A tonic and pacifier of blank rages; buoy and anti-freeze to sudden plunges into sub-zero climate. These conditions cannot be bested, but they can … Continue reading →

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