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Meta
Tag Archives: Poetry
Transit
No words to describe this passing sense, here now gone— Dreaming in real-time.
Portrait
In the hospitable equation of a bicycle, lighted doors and people we cannot see, a hypnogogic nocturne forms of its own accord, begetting incalculable solitude and lore to the trespasses of dreaming.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged bicycle, dreaming, house, japan, lore, poem, Poetry, portrait, street scene, trespasses
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Penumbra
We practice intimacy in scales, from a near warmed distance— a concentrated swath of light, calling us forth, entreats our internal orphan to find fugitive solace in the softly respiring aura of solitude.
Night Beat
It is in these moments when the pumpkin orange glow of the lanterns softens the streets and the bicycles lined up in rows compose portraits of ordered symmetry, that the night turns in on itself, and with it goes I, … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry
Tagged after dark, blues, ephemera, ghosts, japan, niigata, poem, Poetry, streetlamps, streets
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Blue
I knew this. Even before I met her, I knew this. But she, as an explicit confirmation, as a caretaker and symbiotic mouthpiece to my unsaid secrets, said, and so concisely—Dreams come out of the blue, returning to the blue. … Continue reading
Stand-Up
This is not a not a novel. This is a rhapsody. I rhapsodize, I bubble, I ferment, I fount. The amassing of word-shaped sounds have become rhapsodies, digressions, solos within spheres and platforms of soul-sounding species and choruses, the every … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged black comedy, book, fiction, lenny bruce, lord buckley, mae west, nightclub, not novel, novel, Poetry, stand-up, story, storytelling, this lyrical life, voice, words
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In the Dark
If cinema is a tomb, then let us die watching. The angel over my shoulder is hunched, opaque, morphing. None of us ever leave behind the dark of the theater. We are here, always. Sanctuary, haven, enclave, respite, sitting tight … Continue reading
Pandora
I won’t call this a book because no one reads books anymore, no one gives two shits and a dime about books. I’ll call this an exalted and long overdue mania, a catalytic inversion, a freebase purge. Whatever, whatever. Voyeurs … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged apocalyptic bop, black comedy, book, fiction, groove is in the heart, invention, musing, new mythology, not a book, novel in progress, novel inprogress, pandora, Poetry, Prose, solitude
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Station
Historyless is where I come from, the sun-crotched navel, the part of me not yet born, the part of me dead to the world on its way to being born into the potholes and foothills of unimagined fictions. That, plus … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged betweenworlds, born waiting, cosmos, dreamscape, I, interval, midwifery, musing, Poetry, Prose, station, we, worldscape
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Andrea Doria
Itchy navels, persecutions, manias, projections, snot-rimmed abysses, it’s been a mixed bag of plenty and none, and here I sit with the day’s teeth growing long and chomping down with razor-edged intensity … the stringent air of day after days … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged andrea doria, excerpt, lusitania, musing, ocean, passengers, Poetry, Prose, ship of fools, titanic, togetherness, voyage, we
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John Biscello 