Tag Archives: soul

Sincerely Yours

Posted on April 13, 2018 by John Biscello

Breath, you are my true master, and I, your borrowed disciple, graced by the slow dignity of equal measures, allotted free of charge, if attention is paid, with sincerest regards.

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There

Posted on April 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Your soul’s country is much bigger than you think. Find every last you there.

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Praise

Posted on April 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Every last word, placemat for breath to perish, to fade, syncing praise.  

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Emily Dickinson

Posted on April 12, 2018 by John Biscello

At the severest hour, everything fell within. A banquet hall after the crash, after the deluge, and you, a mouse, courting lull, tracked pawprints in flour, stalking floorboards for crumbled manna. You, the mouse, with slow heaven firing your eyes, … Continue reading →

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Growing Young

Posted on April 2, 2018 by John Biscello

I want to grow young with you, she said. It made perfect sense. People had it all wrong. You don’t grow old, your body, this borrowed vessel, it withers and ages and decays, your body grows old, your brain grows … Continue reading →

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Lovesong, the Remix

Posted on March 29, 2018 by John Biscello

It became a goal, soul-mate to my own damned self– Nerves on the first date.

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Ice Cream

Posted on March 25, 2018 by John Biscello

Like ice cream, this dream of life, wintering its soul– How lovely the melt!   (Artwork by Hiroshige)

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Autobiography

Posted on March 25, 2018 by John Biscello

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 →

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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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Unfinished

Posted on December 18, 2017 by John Biscello

There is an epitaph marking the life we have lived from the ones we have not. This is where I begin to separate the words from their cause, running on, unfinished, end to start.

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