Category Archives: Artwork

Red Herrings, Chinese Whispers

Posted on May 16, 2016 by John Biscello

  Excerpt from my new novel Raking the Dust: Over the next couple of hours we compressed our lives into annotated and selective biographies that we laid on the table, right next to our drinks. That’s how D.J. came to … Continue reading →

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Girl in Yellow Raincoat, and Dog

Posted on May 16, 2016 by John Biscello

The rain, like gospel acid, dissolves and revives in equal measures. Parts of girl and dog, melted, weeping off the shallow cliff of curbside. The girl’s features have been washed away by the storm, yet the embryonic portrait of her … Continue reading →

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O’ Keefe, Yellow Flower

Posted on May 15, 2016 by John Biscello

The sex of yellow, its pealed strife and resin. Or how a specter, a sensual crumple and crepe, butter-tongued, makes time with a pair of honeyed tonsils, coercing a holler, a yodel, aria raging blonde over brood, the Belle’s Seduction, … Continue reading →

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Almost Found in Translation

Posted on May 12, 2016 by John Biscello

  If, by chance or mistake, I have given you inscrutable glyphs, it is only because I, the translator, struggle mightily and mostly fail to translate the parts of me gone missing.

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Gondola

Posted on May 11, 2016 by John Biscello

Distance, the middle ground between lovers locked in psychic undress; a ritual burlesque exposing wounds, we reverse course and seed safe harbors at the expense of metaphor and masks; intimacy skinned to savor a new course, near to grace, unfiltered.

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Furls

Posted on May 10, 2016 by John Biscello

Feted, by an angel’s glassy hands, slow-burning river of sound, pooling white fire in rounded furls.

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Kafka, Waking in the Morning

Posted on May 9, 2016 by John Biscello

Between dreams, he woke to night-bells ringing in the early morning— the riskiest time of day. The fog outside his room, thick as cat’s feet, treading softly on his mind, and after rubrubbing the sheep from his eyes, he stared … Continue reading →

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Staring at Paintings, Hungry

Posted on May 9, 2016 by John Biscello

Hemingway wrote that he’d go to the Luxembourg, hungry, and stare at the paintings and this was a great way to see art.

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The Source

Posted on May 8, 2016 by John Biscello

This poem dedicated to mothers’ everywhere. Their hearts, registered as infinite beacons, have gone gently and luminously into nights not so good and pitch-black, braving flytrap folds and god-awful rows to soothe, mend and restore the bruised vitals of daughters … Continue reading →

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Compass

Posted on May 6, 2016 by John Biscello

Abiding the testimonial of scattered crumbs and clefted petals, I will follow you the snaky length of impossible and hidden places; I will follow you, claiming the hem of your shadow as my guide.

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