Tag Archives: spirit

Oxygen for a Sort of Love Song

Love, as a true bloom and pulsing grist, and not just mutiny, opiate in its seize and grip, should, at day’s end, allow you to breathe easier, lungs rooming with heart, space, carved out of ceaseless flow, respiring toward growth, … Continue reading

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Waltz

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

  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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Sculpt

To sculpt, with just the right amount of brandish, and restraint, how you, art to your own crumble and chasten, exact marvel, slowly, at the Muse’s favored bidding.  

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Jackson Pollock

Out of silence, and lidded smolder, arose a localized storm. You could say it was a balletic squall forecasting its own tyrant reign and fall, a fate designed to galvanize and then blackout not so gently into that goodnight exit … Continue reading

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Sweetheart

At the heart of the matter, this, become your own valentine, again and again, and sculpt a blessedly illicit affair, in perpetual fount and bask.

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Currency

Language, a living currency and greening force, gospel and amorphic in its leanings toward the freest and most daring aspects of your imagination, well beyond margins, syntax, and staid forms.

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Fierce and Daisy

Among greengolden pastures, the fierce grew. Its plastic vampire teeth tore into the jugulars of bluebells, its molten leavetaking gave the earth scars and heartburn, and left the fresh grass in tears. The roots, understanding the nature of siege, its … Continue reading

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Marvel

As a child, the thinnest greenest wisps of air held tiny totemic figures of me, carved from sheer terror, aloft, and I pretended, o how I pretended to be the biggest strongest bravest boldest of them all, a clown-saint crossing … Continue reading

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Margin

Beyond these margins, lies something that is yours, yes, an intimate claim.

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