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Meta
Tag Archives: play
Near to Edges
Words meant to be read aloud inside your head. A paradox yes but true. To be read aloud inside your head could be the preface the header the suggestion accompanying the texts. In this respect you may hear the music. … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged correspondences, craft, edges, jazz, play, Poetry, Prose, resonance, subjectivity, word
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Window for Two
Do you plan to get up today Max? No Marge, you? I am up. You plan on staying up? No, just wanted a spot of tea. That’s very British of you. What is? A spot of tea . . . … Continue reading
Sound and the Furies
My novel, The Last Furies, was partly inspired by the life, legend and poetic reckoning of the Symbolist brat-prince, Arthur Rimbaud. As a hybrid work, that is both an endless remix of a novel and a sorcerer’s cryptic handbook, the … Continue reading
Posted in Books, photography, Poetry, Prose
Tagged alchemy, arthur rimbaud, fifth novel, language, play, Poetry, Prose, remixology, sorcery, symbolist poetry
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Seeds
The other day I met a monk who juggled watermelon seeds with his tongue. When I asked him how he did it, he spit the seeds at me, a staccato stream of seeds as if the monk were no monk … Continue reading
The Soldier
Excerpt from All the Last Furies. He swept me into the storage room of the inn. Baited me with the promise of candy. Something so simple, and yet candy might be the ultimate siren for children, its lure a golden … Continue reading
Posted in Books, Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged all the last furies, arthur rimbaud, John Biscello, memory of fiction, novel, play, Prose, radio tuning, the inn, the raping
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Bike Rally
At childhood’s wild edge, play as the sacred totem– No license required.
Satyr
I found him, wanting, satyr’s swell of thorny play– fondling fresh, green grass.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged grass, haiku, John Biscello, lust, nature, pan, passion, play, Poetry, satyr, sesnsuality, throb
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Wonder
Each spring they return, bound to renew small wonders– Innocent by turns. (Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)
Autobiography
To know myself, a rogue aggregate of loving atoms, a happy shivering clusterfuck of luminous baubles banded together to forge and assume an alleged identity, no papers or pulpit required, to fulfill an arc, and heart-guided directives, to be a … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged autobiography, badlands, desert, dream, God, I, identity, John Biscello, love, me, play, poem, Poetry, soul, spirit
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Nursery
The nursery burned, as the children kept playing– Parents worlds away. (Artwork by Dorothea Tanning)
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Artwork, children spirit, destruction, dorothea tanning, haiku, John Biscello, love, nursery, painting, play, poem, surreal
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