Joe Bisicchia

There is likely hesitation,
but he takes the cross.

A voice can only say so much.
...

Having mastered complexities of math, science, and alphabet,
all that education now comes down to this:
affixing one and one together late on Christmas Eve,
hooking up latest kids' gadgets with no sense of ease.
...

And what awaits to be seen,
faraway as sky,
close by as the backyard,
ever closer to the heart?
...

Rocks have personalities
I think
maybe.
Got to get to know them.
...

My face to the morning mist,
again I misplace what I could see,
my little sailboat of dreams,
out there so close it had seemed,
...

We felt her voice lift joyous from that deathbed.
She wasn't a poet; but was. Her last poem: her final breath.
It left without a word, as if the most peaceful sound ever said.
And we wept.
...

And my arteries run;
they race with the streets,
my depth chasing the lines underneath,
my arms chasing my dreams.
...

face, face, face, face, face.
face, face, face, face, face, face, You.
face, face, face, face, face.
...

What does Timbuktu mean to you?
Is it a tired cliché of somewhere far, far away?
Is it like nothing you know, just plain peculiar, something to ignore?
...

And then,
I worry of the present offer, seemingly too good to be

true as when it was long ago shiny, new. We remember
...

Yes,
there's an elephant in the room.

Shall we ignore it?
...

Should I turn my ear and look away? Will I dismiss a fellow human being? He is there, always walking ahead. He is there, she is there, they are there in every shape of head.

Am I more than imperfection? Can I be God's reflection? And what of others? Will I remain afraid? And of what am I afraid? Maybe it is because I know this life is one of limitation. For that, will I dismiss yet another human being?
...

Oh, sure, I haven't actually optically gained a gauge on this,
but there are unimaginable critters in our ceiling.
I hear them and their pitter patter Fred Astair, Ginger Rogers.
...

Alma matters.

Me and the siblings shared a cave. For an age, we painted solitary mammoths on the walls, threw our solitary thoughts at the stalagmites as if solitary ideas had might.
...

And the wildflowers
rise
to speak.
...

Sometimes we chase it,
but there is more to forever,
more to summer than the horizon's end.
...

And once again, ephemeral goes our night sky, yet not.
Effervescence remains. The glow of stars.
Our hearts.
...

Please, if you will,
share with me the directions
from Here to There.
I bet There may be somewhere,
...

Friends,
peace
is not our journey's end,
but the way to it.
...

She said love's a phenomenon,
heavenly but meant to be down to earth.
I lifted her atop a pedestal.
She had just wanted to see eye to eye.
...