Category Archives: Poetry

After Party

Posted on January 26, 2022 by John Biscello

She, Lazarus, back from the dead, with a musical vengeance— A beat, Christ, please, she asks of her martyred D.J., half-light, half-man, and out climbs her voice, grinding through rubble, a dark velvet toy wound up for centuries, released, on … Continue reading →

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God’s Word Against Mine

Posted on January 24, 2022 by John Biscello

And on the eighth day she was diagnosed an Artist, and saw that it was good and fierce and necessary, and went forth creating like a madwoman, rattling gravity shackles to the din of furor and crumbling towers within. (Poem … Continue reading →

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Immigration Laws

Posted on January 21, 2022 by John Biscello

We areimmigrants in our own skin,flash-fire refugeeswho get by with falsified papers,fake IDs, and forged signatures.If caught and found guiltyof a trespassor transgression,we pardon ourselvesin our native tongues,language a placeholderfor the nameswe were forcedto annul. (Poem from the collection, Arclight.)

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Claim for the Meek

Posted on January 19, 2022 by John Biscello

I do not want to see the face of God. I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked, the causal history of lines and fissures; want to trace, with blind mute innocence, the light quartered and … Continue reading →

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This Dreamed Life

Posted on December 22, 2021 by John Biscello

Remember me to the ease of light, its pause and passage, we are not long for this earth, which swallows us, and our lovetagged bones, as a matter of natural course and radical recomposition, all the gifts, and hopes unwound … Continue reading →

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Seating Arrangement

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

The girl in the chair is no longer the girl in the chair, she is neither here nor there, she is always and forget-me-not, soul-spray and glacial uproar causing a siege, she is the spidery patterns of her exploded heart, … Continue reading →

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Please Sit Down

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

No sitters to tend, solvent to its own winter, if these floors could talk.

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A Star is Born

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

Rending the cosmos, to midwife its own star-seed, to papoose night-bloom.

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Chain Reaction

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

Night swallowing its own tale of snake swallowing its own tail of night.

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Ties that Bind

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

Seven years later, the pupa stage of marriage– Who the hell are you?

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