Tag Archives: Prose

Dawn

Posted on October 16, 2022 by John Biscello

Between lisping partitions of rain we ache. We long. It has been called this mortal longing this calculation of histories of distances. We seek the symmetries of lost hours in threads of rain falling graying glaring we reach between to … Continue reading →

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Fade

Posted on October 16, 2022 by John Biscello

It has been called this mortal longing and we have all hailed there all ached there swearing. Between lisping partitions of rain we seek phantom threads blue gray promising to guide us down unmarked roads to deepening distances. Seeking being … Continue reading →

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Holy Dark

Posted on October 16, 2022 by John Biscello

In the dark I tell myself stories cycling through different guises different spells and guesses to sublimate an existential itch I cannot scratch. In batches the words arrive wingless like immigrants from distant shores. I go there hungover from daily … Continue reading →

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Children of the Moon

Posted on October 14, 2022 by John Biscello

We lie here in fields dreaming unseen and fondle ourselves forgetting ourselves. In intermittent flashes elegies come as summons as reminders of what it was like to be human whenever that was. What was it like to be human the … Continue reading →

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Lore and Order

Posted on October 13, 2022 by John Biscello

We recall fondly. We recollect. The good old days in which we titled windmills redolently and rode dusty clanging boxcars across the horizontal spread of america What a lay we said hitching our pants sticking our peckers into every gopher … Continue reading →

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Long Haul

Posted on October 13, 2022 by John Biscello

Grief lies here like an insomniac pining for sleep. Like scissors running dull to the touch of fate. We paper over grief its many wrecks its brittle slates with hordes of torn pages. Forget me nots band aids christ sporting … Continue reading →

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Where on Earth

Posted on October 13, 2022 by John Biscello

Nineteen rifles and the village was burned to the ground there were nineteen rifles stolen by rebels and then came the awful burning down what was called scorched earth policy. My mother my father my brother were burned down to … Continue reading →

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Keepers

Posted on October 12, 2022 by John Biscello

Grief lies here like an insomniac thirsting for sleep. Like scissors dull to the touch of fate. We paper over grief its many wrecks its graying slates with torn pages. Forget me nots band aids christ sporting a porn stache. … Continue reading →

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Domain

Posted on October 12, 2022 by John Biscello

Make the small your domain. Your belfry for lost hours. Within the small words gather to tremble to sublimate to keep solitude company. Also they become cinema in which you are watching words gather to keep solitude company that being … Continue reading →

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Calling

Posted on October 11, 2022 by John Biscello

In not so many words I found my wanting voice calling out to you almost. It was going to say things about blues and greens I think in relation to the sea in relation to your eyes. I might’ve gone … Continue reading →

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