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I want to invade deeper than where cock meets cervix. Like the soldier’s sword, I want to touch your beating, bleeding heart. I need to invade the deepest vaults in the darkest rooms of the corridors of your mind. Like the nightingale’s song, I wish to uplift your sacred psyche. Like the witch’s glare, I…
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Stories of water into wine, burning bushes, parting of the sea, death and resurrection, when you think about it, are fairly unremarkable mythologies. Virgins giving birth to gods are repetitious themes in many theologies that foreshadow the existence of fabled superstars. Is there a society where deities and demons exist solely as metaphors, tales intended…
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invisible bells silently ringing toes tapping to absent rhythms © 2026 Bruno Talerico 241/365
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It’s a lot of work to dig a grave, especially if it’s your own. With each choice we make, we turn a shovelful of soil. The greater the risk, the deeper the hole. Play it safe, gouge a shallow trench and leave your bones for the predators. Or take a few risks, dig deep and…
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What suture links one day to the next? Are dreams and reality a continuum, opposite ends of a spectrum, or are they more like a hotel suite, two rooms connected by a sleepy doorway? At night I drift into sleep as myself. Do I wake the next morning as someone new? © 2026 Bruno Talerico…
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How easy it is to be utterly under their spell. Unafraid of the darkness. Unafraid to listen. Unafraid to believe. Instead of approachable, locked away behind closed doors, issuing beastly demands, sending vague, convoluted messages. How can we understand if we are not equal to the gods? © 2026 Bruno Talerico 238/365
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I forgot. It sounds crazy— saying it out loud. I forgot that there is no perfect plan, there is no perfect path, that no matter what, there is always uncertainty. I tried hard to avoid a trap, but ended up creating one for myself anyway. The more logical and rational I tried to be, the…
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Crystal goblet dropped carelessly on marble floor, pieces swept into a dark corner. Crushed, crumbled and eroded by life. She called herself ‘shards’— saw herself as broken, shattered. Soul and spirit splintered into razor sharpness. Drawn by flashes of her light, he saw thousands of glittering scraps, bits of broken heart reflecting glints of moonlight.…
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Now, yesterday was tomorrow gift-wrapped. © 2026 Bruno Talerico 234/365
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Superficial simplicity often hides deep complexity. ©2026 Bruno Talerico 235/365
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Desert Dweller 