Tag Archives: story

Lemon

Posted on November 23, 2022 by John Biscello

I don’t tell him there is no such thing as Claudia Lemon, she’s invented, he knows nothing about Clarise Lermontov, my ghost, my first country, there is no Clarise, only Claudia Lemon,  and there is the young girl who loved … Continue reading →

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Storytellers

Posted on November 18, 2022 by John Biscello

Storytellers of different ilks different beats different leaks of internal graffiti yet the word always at the heart of it barrowing out into light what comes from shadowlands within. Stories within earshot as eavesdropped whispers Stories like moonshots catapulted with … Continue reading →

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Woven

Posted on November 16, 2022 by John Biscello

In the beginning the dreaming not the word. The word came later. It came whenever and betrayed silence and this was the beginning of fiction. Now you’ve got what passes for a world of dreaming of fiction and parallels splintered … Continue reading →

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In the Dark

Posted on November 14, 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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Here There Be Dream Tigers

Posted on November 14, 2022 by John Biscello

Here we are hooded in shadows with tigers green fire eyes lighting up new seasons. Tigers green fire eyes the forests of emeralds burning of bedazzlement and jade bewitching. We enter calmly at our own risk. We heard that one … Continue reading →

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The Unseen

Posted on November 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 advertising what it was like to be human whenever that was. What was it like to be human the … Continue reading →

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Exit Through the Gift Shop

Posted on November 13, 2022 by John Biscello

We’ve heard rumors that God doesn’t know he exists. She exists. It. Whatever the gender or genderless you get the picture. God doesn’t know there is such thing as God that he is this thing we call God this blessed … Continue reading →

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Bone Jig

Posted on November 11, 2022 by John Biscello

My mother’s bones. My mother’s bones resounding in my ears piercing my eardrums. Death rattle of the dusty gourd. Of the earth’s grief calling to us to restore. Calling upon us to become wardens attendants to vibrations crossing passages. To … Continue reading →

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Lasting Born

Posted on November 10, 2022 by John Biscello

Once upon a time is a necessary mirage. Flesh born of lighted word and bones fulfilling myth. Stories are the means to endlessness. They go on and on. We go on and on carried along by stories carrying within them … Continue reading →

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Keeper of Bones

Posted on November 3, 2022 by John Biscello

Now again I have become my mother’s keeper. Once I saw her sitting out in the yard staring out blankly and when I asked her what she was doing she said she was taking care of the world. She said … Continue reading →

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