Tag Archives: self

Kin

Posted on May 22, 2018 by John Biscello

There are chambers inside myself I have yet to discover or visit, for example, that one room rumored to contain a monk in tattered robes hunched over a yellow table benignly autistic in his relations to text and verses which … Continue reading →

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Glisten

Posted on May 22, 2018 by John Biscello

It is hard to believe, but after years and years of clawing with bitten nails, and digging with torn palms, in the heart of a stone she found the babybluest wisps of cloud, soft nimbus music, to which she tendered … Continue reading →

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Orphan

Posted on May 20, 2018 by John Biscello

The greatest lies I learned as a child seperated my soul from its choir, a violent breaching that took the littlest me to the far ends of my self, where I found, in dwelling, Beauty, untrammeled, opening her palm to … Continue reading →

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Course

Posted on May 20, 2018 by John Biscello

Water, its wisdom graded to flow, seeks its own level, you, soul-liquid in essence, symmetry to unknown, are there, beyond the kinks, crimps and wrinkles, a center, irreducibly empty, scored to choral interplay, wonder and chant, you, dream-host to the … Continue reading →

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Reckon

Posted on May 17, 2018 by John Biscello

You, true to your own scythe, perpetrate with fierce love, small necessary deaths, you, whispering sweet winged words of encouragement to your reaper, Hurry now, slowly, and bless my broken softly, bless every last ghost through the numinous host of … Continue reading →

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Intent

Posted on May 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Silence, the lighted bidding to know my own heart, to take a chance on every last fretted me I neglected to face, or boldly mention, to sow gaping closure with intent.  

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Note to Self

Posted on May 13, 2018 by John Biscello

Words, the right ones, ripe and engorged, outgrow the necessary dark inside you and, abiding the laws of catch and release, demand light, air, voice. Beware atrophy, the root killer, and do not leave language, ingrown, unattended.

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Waltz

Posted on May 12, 2018 by John Biscello

On the night God went topless, and the nephilim performed a burlesque of Carmen, or perhaps it was the Wizard of Oz, the girl with the frosted tulips in her hair, and love song in her head, turned off the … Continue reading →

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Still Life w/ Selfie

Posted on May 11, 2018 by John Biscello

  How I, my ego-fiend-self, craves and wishes and desires to take ultimate credit for the words and poems attaching themselves to their mortal host, John Biscello, thinly grafted to his signature and persona, but deep down I understand all … Continue reading →

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Bliss

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

To follow your bliss you must kiss your demons squarely on their mouths lancing their sealed lips with a flaming tongue perpetrating tango between worlds where love consumes every last thorny bit.

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