Category Archives: Poetry

Wish You Were Here

Posted on July 6, 2017 by John Biscello

Send us postcards from your loneliest places, your fault-lines and secret rivets, send us words and we promise not to burn them, we promise that something of the ineffable will stick, as if a lasting thorn in God’s bruised paw.

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Pledge

Posted on July 6, 2017 by John Biscello

It is like stalking thin, haunted air, and forever coming up empty, she, the dark lady, a shallow fret, the one who will surely bring you to grief. This you knew, and craved, as soon as you laid eyes on … Continue reading →

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Tow

Posted on July 4, 2017 by John Biscello

Grief, its memory a river bound to a course inveighing a volatile tow.

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Turn of the Screw

Posted on July 2, 2017 by John Biscello

Is this what Adam and Eve felt like, outcasts in their own backyard? In this wasteland would you just screw and screw and screw, the desperate conjugation of the lonely and damned, trying to screw your way out of the … Continue reading →

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Marvel

Posted on June 18, 2017 by John Biscello

In these mortal coils I have always marveled at the sheer lightness of centuries rising to meet love in a single feral drop of gospel distilled to its purest form.

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Digging for Air

Posted on June 11, 2017 by John Biscello

There was always plenty of tomorrow-talk, bright ribbons of noise amounting to nothing. What we would do, where we would go, how we’d become this or that. We erected fragile monuments to ourselves, and expected others to pay their respects, … Continue reading →

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Childhood’s End?

Posted on June 11, 2017 by John Biscello

Childhood, as a static port or fixed constellation, remains an ongoing historical fiction, in which small deaths, consigned to witnesses, inevitably breed the shadows of regeneration.

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Garden

Posted on June 11, 2017 by John Biscello

In seeding the bones fragile means to nuptial growth among mortal remains.

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Samsa in Transit

Posted on June 1, 2017 by John Biscello

It had been one of those nights, but still, the stairs were unexpected. The bug, formerly known as Gregor Samsa, scuttled to the eroded edge of a step bleached by white-hot light, and he considered the view, the ascent, the blue-dark, … Continue reading →

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Crossing

Posted on June 1, 2017 by John Biscello

The solitary spectral figure gliding smoothly across the plane of sea, validated the woman’s faith in her blunt decision to leave off, unfinished, far from the unlit days of a life unsown.

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