Prose-Poem: Trip Hop

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TRIP HOP

by John Biscello

Mellowing down, steep, deep, tripping the lights to inaugurate the dark—opiate balm shelters for the speakeasy crowd.

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 bread to kiss them to issue intimate welcomes. The words gather to form a title aligning a cause Homecoming for Exiles. In the shadows of the words growing nearer to me I suddenly realize I am speechless. I don’t know what or how to say. A silence soul killing not golden. A fuzzy glowing one presently unformed that one day may grow up to become wisteria or adagio flickers and softly lisps Chill the fuck out. I bow down before this wise word this buddha fleabite of lyrical say so. The words a harem of fireflies each light an ember christlike in its fault and burn. In the dark in sync with tiniest flares I tell myself stories carried along by tides and furies of telling to only god knows where or why this longing.

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, performer, and playwright, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of four novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, and No Man’s Brooklyn; a collection of stories, Freeze Tag, two poetry collections, Arclight and Moonglow on Mercy Street; and a fable, The Jackdaw and the Doll, illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama.