Category Archives: Poetry

Sweetheart

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

At the heart of the matter, this, become your own valentine, again and again, and sculpt a blessedly illicit affair, in perpetual fount and bask.

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Perspective

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

There are lace panties, and there are cliffs. When considering a jump, note the hazards, and the marked distinction between diving in or off.

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I Do Not Say

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

I do not say I love you, but I notice how your fingers twine and wrap around empty, tracing broken circles in the air when you are nervous. I do not say I love you, but there is a spot … Continue reading →

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Beat, Bop & Abstraction

Posted on May 4, 2018 by John Biscello

It took place in an amnesiac haze and fury, numberless nights of lightningspeak and opiate rabble, rocketfuel and anti-freeze, bright slashing ribbons of noise amounting to worry stones indenting the infantpink tender of palms, forecasting God as a vaudeville dunce … Continue reading →

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Intraverse

Posted on April 29, 2018 by John Biscello

(Intraverse, Epitaph for a Beginning is a 24-part poem, which will be included in my collection Arclight. I wanted to present it here, uncut, for those who enjoy swallowing their jagged metaphysical fragments whole.) 1. Bidden by tatters, and gravity’s mutable … Continue reading →

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Cinemate

Posted on April 24, 2018 by John Biscello

Tinder, how tongues snake flames to debut summer’s flick– Burn Slow While Kissing.

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Flagrant

Posted on April 24, 2018 by John Biscello

Prayer’s body to rent, exact in flagrant cherish– flesh struck to match, ssssssss.

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Currency

Posted on April 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Language, a living currency and greening force, gospel and amorphic in its leanings toward the freest and most daring aspects of your imagination, well beyond margins, syntax, and staid forms.

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Fierce and Daisy

Posted on April 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Among greengolden pastures, the fierce grew. Its plastic vampire teeth tore into the jugulars of bluebells, its molten leavetaking gave the earth scars and heartburn, and left the fresh grass in tears. The roots, understanding the nature of siege, its … Continue reading →

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Marvel

Posted on April 23, 2018 by John Biscello

As a child, the thinnest greenest wisps of air held tiny totemic figures of me, carved from sheer terror, aloft, and I pretended, o how I pretended to be the biggest strongest bravest boldest of them all, a clown-saint crossing … Continue reading →

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