Category Archives: Poetry

Fleur de Lis

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

This world,beyond this world,splitting into festive atoms,called upon this woman,beyond this woman,to air with no discretionthe favored breathof blue rosesfalling.

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On the Nature of Writing

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

Begin at the beginning. Who am I? Who is the voice asking who am I? Who is the who observing the voice asking who am I? Who is the who eternally taking notes on the who observing the voice who … Continue reading →

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High Priestess

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

In the lost country of typewriters,and heresies of ink,lived a writer named Clarise,who, longing to syncthe pulse of Godwith sentient spates of text,broke offand plunged soulfirst into a wonderlandof intimately recursive lengths.

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To the Lighthouse

Posted on May 30, 2022 by John Biscello

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 →

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Postcard from the Edge

Posted on May 25, 2022 by John Biscello
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Scar Country

Posted on May 24, 2022 by John Biscello

Blonde thimbles of sunlight pour onto and speckle the faded terra-cotta roofs, the play of light on hidden scars, the song with unremembered lyrics.Four towels draped on the railing of a terrace to air-dry. Two green, one blue, one red.The … Continue reading →

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Sound and the Furies

Posted on May 20, 2022 by John Biscello

My novel, The Last Furies, was partly inspired by the life, legend and poetic reckoning of the Symbolist brat-prince, Arthur Rimbaud. As a hybrid work, that is both an endless remix of a novel and a sorcerer’s cryptic handbook, the … Continue reading →

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Nipples don’t Kill

Posted on May 8, 2022 by John Biscello

In the feral country of nipples,where she-wolves raisetheir pups to howl unashamedlyat the moon,many many men,unconsciously ensnaredin puritanical roots,fear, scorn and revilethe mystery of the female nipple,its organic promise of milk and eternitytoo vagrantly radiantfor many many men’s eyes to … Continue reading →

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The Source

Posted on May 8, 2022 by John Biscello

For mothers everywhere: Their hearts, registeredas infinite beacons,have gone gentlyand luminously into nightsnot so good and pitch-black, bravingflytrap folds and god-awful rowsto soothe, mend andrestore the bruised vitalsof daughters and sons;they go, infused with bright rage,green force driving homenocturnes and … Continue reading →

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Homage to John Fante

Posted on April 5, 2022 by John Biscello
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