Category Archives: Poetry

Hansel’s Primal Urges

Posted on November 30, 2018 by John Biscello

A house in the woods, rumors of a shapely witch– The risk of foreplay.

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Confidentially Speaking

Posted on November 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Who, what, where and when, stories love lighted windows at night, plot thickens.

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A Theater Near You

Posted on November 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Angels sacrifice the molten blood of their light to make still life films.

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The Human Chronicles

Posted on November 30, 2018 by John Biscello

How reassuring to know that this scene, this Martian postcard of halcyon rupture, of phoenixes rapturing in legion, lives inside of us, the history and legacy of our cells functioning as projectors through which eternal dreamstock engages the audience of … Continue reading →

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Request

Posted on November 29, 2018 by John Biscello

When I splinter, and I know I will, blow gently upon the shavings and dust, and perhaps, if you are compelled, trace a line or two, an abstract doodle, into the finite grains of my asymmetry, and in honoring your … Continue reading →

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The Wonder Years

Posted on November 29, 2018 by John Biscello

There is no cure, no failsafe remedy that can be bought and sold, bargained or commissioned, from without– You must become first best mate to your own soul, and you, like the voyage, may find a course aligned to the … Continue reading →

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Hello, Goodbye

Posted on November 28, 2018 by John Biscello

The day she traded her worn cross for a feather the air kissed the light.

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It’s a Wonderful Life: An Anthology

Posted on November 28, 2018 by John Biscello

My holiest intent is to do my best to enjoy the hell out of this specific incarnation, its quirks and foibles, challenges and riches, as I fully invest in playing John Biscello for a short while, before identity melts and … Continue reading →

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What We Talk About When We Talk About Fire

Posted on November 28, 2018 by John Biscello

By carnal I mean tearing pulpy flesh from the moon dipping it in kersosene then the match the fire between your legs as the sound of sirens thrill and enlighten us to the possibilites that A) We will be saved … Continue reading →

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Satyr’s Dreamlife

Posted on November 27, 2018 by John Biscello

Even with ten thousand electric tongues I could not have reached that one spot, that pinking chamber and embedded source of ache which reminded me time and again of my own intimate relationship to distance, and how I’d binge on … Continue reading →

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