Tag Archives: spirit

Cavespeak

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes it is like surfing the gloam and reaching down to draw softly rounded syllables from curdles of gray in order to raise the heart’s homesick climes from its deepest and most hidden caves.

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Mouth

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

That mouth, I remember, an evocative nursery of lost things, a fierce swallower of galactic bulbs and starburned roots, it took in so much, didn’t it? announcing to the belly’s slowchurning greenfire, to the lips bluequiver icegarden riot, I am … Continue reading →

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Eventide

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

The grayvoice, wrinkly in its soiled pucker and ancientnewness, heeded, and sung, to freight and hoist the downgoing adventure up, up, up into silvercoined spates of eventide, the furthest reaches so damned close to dreamcountry it hurts to fathom or … Continue reading →

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Roots

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

My heart, forever the weeded ace and wandering fool, scored to secret pines, sings of resident gloam pooled in that forest of backlit signs, which grows beyond its clipped horizons to invigorate departures, spurred by the genius of wordless roots.

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Forecast

Posted on June 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Ask the divine wordless forecast, ask the motherless child staring off into the distance as she sails a paper airplane out the opened window.

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Ferally Yours

Posted on June 8, 2018 by John Biscello

Take your own pulse, and manic rave, to the wilds springing new weather, vigorous sync-up to the unknown, where pagan gospel will re-seed feral beginnings.

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Prehistoric You

Posted on June 7, 2018 by John Biscello

There is, perhaps, nothing truer than the myth of one’s own innerlife, a revolution, rapt and lidless, the carnivalesque autobiography of spirit, endlessly turning upon, and twinning within, the Soul’s vanguard and prehistory, unsigned.

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Tend

Posted on June 7, 2018 by John Biscello

To be given over, again and again, to amen, upon this earth, to bind renewal, through wonder tended, by savor’s witness.

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Soulfeed

Posted on June 7, 2018 by John Biscello

You are here, she said, to take a tentative chance on the infinite, to teethe, lovingly, on the numinous zipper of a star or two, to gamble away innocence with a fortune teller’s palm, grinning stigmata, and not a single … Continue reading →

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Calling

Posted on June 6, 2018 by John Biscello

To imagine, I was here, to dare, marvel’s slow calling, before I disappear.

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