Category Archives: Uncategorized

Gauge

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

If, in words I found you wanting, lean to perish, would silence bestow a second, surer opinion?

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Gist

Posted on February 23, 2018 by John Biscello

The manic blush and titter of young love is no serum nor mirage, but rather the gist of bloom martyred so soon to thorns.

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Cherish

Posted on February 23, 2018 by John Biscello

This side of dream, to marvel in sheer trespass and longing, to engage the mystery and riot of skin, by touch and flagrant cherish.

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Bask

Posted on February 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Rapt, in gratitude, the writer fasting on silence, and slimmest wisps, to gain Beauty’s favor and superlative bask, beyond recognition.  

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First Time, Forever

Posted on February 23, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    What are we gonna do with ourselves Daniel?    Like right now?    Like ever. Are you gonna go to college?    I don’t know, but I don’t think so.    Why you’re smart? … Continue reading →

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Super Hero

Posted on February 23, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    I was six when I found out I’d never become a superhero.    We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother, and father. My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a … Continue reading →

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In Love and War

Posted on February 22, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    I dumped all my G.I. Joes out of the shopping bag and onto the pavement of the driveway. I separated the good guys from the bad guys, and then arranged them in specific positions. … Continue reading →

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Bough

Posted on February 22, 2018 by John Biscello

Thick blossoms of snow caking the comb-teeth of pines– To rivet, chastely, sublime.

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Daniel and Anya

Posted on February 22, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    Anya melts onto her back.    Lie down with me okay?    I lie down.    Our sides are touching, barely, but enough.    You can’t see many stars tonight, Anya says.    Too … Continue reading →

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Grasp

Posted on February 22, 2018 by John Biscello

Dawn’s broken promise, an arterial rupturing of light bleeding fevered gold through drawn, dusty blinds, morning, slow to rise, small hands reach out and cannot grasp forever.

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