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Category Archives: Poetry
Fools-Day
In honor of April Fool’s, and to all the world’s wise fool mystics, beautiful innocents, and cliff-diving dreamers: To marvel dumbly, and trespass, with a sense of the infinite backlighting a wink– this, the way of the Fool, or sacred … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged buster keaton, charlie chaplin, fool's play, here comes the sun, John Biscello, marx brothers, slapstick, take a leap, tarot, the fool, wise fools, zero the fool
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What You Can’t See
Sunset, beading flashfire sparks and gilded symmetry, upon the gloss-dark wings of crows, who, in brazen observance, caw with religious fervor, an airing of lyrics intimately vested to the secret lives of children, walking home, winged.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged children, crows, John Biscello, lyrical liftoff, Poetry, singing, sunset, the walk home, winging it
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Starfucking
It was driving me crazy. I couldn’t stand the teasing anymore, the eternal seductiveness, so I fabled right through the roof and into the capacious night-sky to be with the stars, those luminous coquettes and avatars of celestial elegance, on … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Artwork, celestial tryst, cosmic erotica, John Biscello, poem, starfucking, Starry Night, the longing, vincent van gogh
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Dietrich in Heaven
Spoken Word (John Biscello), Bass (Ben Wright)
Posted in Audio, photography, Poetry, Press, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged Ben Wright, heaven scent, John Biscello, Marlene Dietrich, Poetry, recorded live, spoken word and bass, the 20s
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If Sylvia Plath and L.L. Cool J. Had Gotten Down
Spoken word (John Biscello), Bass (Ben Wright).
Posted in Audio, photography, Poetry, Press, Prose, Uncategorized, Video
Tagged bassline, flowsteady, John Biscello, L.L. Cool J, Poetry, recording, Spoken Word, Sylvia Plath
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Wingspan
Winged, we found ourselves baiting spools of thinning air— Ground and us, parting.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged flight plans, groundswell, haiku, John Biscello, Poetry, the air up there, winged and wondrous
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To the Lighthouse
Here it is, finally. A séance for the living, real-time cinema for possessed bones and sad visionless ghosts, who are on the cusp of claiming their spacious reams of empty, and time-locked vagrancy. The door behind the door has never … Continue reading
