Julie

Posted on June 13, 2016 by John Biscello
snow II
I.
Eyes.
When I called them
winterblue, you said,
oh really, the O
a fat bright balloon
twisted
into a curious animal.
Really, I insisted,
and explained
how, when written,
I’d compound
winter and blue,
words holding hands
to get the eyes
just right.
Continue reading →
Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Emily

Posted on June 12, 2016 by John Biscello
emily
You say
she knew not God
because she scratched
under a floorboard
all winterlong,
the marginal tracks
of a starved mouse
seeking a piece
of brittle crust,
maybe a crumb.
Continue reading →
Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Flame and the Lotus

Posted on June 10, 2016 by John Biscello
sylvia blue
(For Sylvia Plath, 1932-1963)
I.
sylvia in chains
and drag: the green-eyed
bee-witch, Ariella,
poised on her
remote blue star,
chilled and unblinking

succubus
to the men
she promises
to swallow, whole,
like air

Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Tinder

Posted on June 9, 2016 by John Biscello

Yellow and Blue Mark Rothko Print

In this lighted instance,
a storm-watch of gold
bearing the heft of silence
and time, slowed.
Blue shoulders the collapse
of heaven, it is the Atlas underlay,
the muscle cloud formation.
When the painter dies,
this tindered vault will inherit his bones,
a somatic cleave
between loving memory
and ghost.

 

 

Posted in Artwork, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Last Word

Posted on June 8, 2016 by John Biscello

fountain pen

Wednesday, June 15th @ 4pm (mountain time) I will be a guest on the radio program: The Last Word, Conversations with Writers, discussing the craft of fiction, discipline, surrealism, the virtues of the NYC subway system, the radical swing between a Brooklyn-urban existence and the high-desert otherworldliness of Taos, and other things in the shade and under the sun.
The show can be streamed here.

 

Posted in Audio, Books, Press, Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Flint

Posted on June 8, 2016 by John Biscello

Brassai

A scissored valentine walked into a hard case.
The floor, a silent witness, held its tongue.
It was one of those Sundays that was acting like a Tuesday.
Scrambled eggs, jazz, and a wet book of matches.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Factory Maiden

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello
screen test II
Recursively spooling the It-Girl’s
Factorymade cool fast fade
from the pinwheel galaxy of stars & soupcans–
Mmmm mmmm good, for a hot fixed minute
during the candyrigged reign of Warhol the Ain’t–
Is you is or is you not Aint’s baby, burns in her
mind as she plummets to earth,
recalling allegiance to porchlights &
imaginary chums
before the fall.
Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pandora’s Boxcutter

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello
brooksie
Against a wall
Pandora turns to burn
holes in the hopeful gazes
& visionclench of every last peeping
no-show; succubus to perps &
prey, she swallows their hunger &
cameras whole.
Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Gospel According to Jazz

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello
CharlieParker
Bird, unfettered,
blowing his soul through a horn–
breath scoring God.
Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Isn’t it Romantic?

Posted on June 5, 2016 by John Biscello

Lord_Byron

Baby Byron didn’t yet have language,
so he twisted and contorted
his face into a mask, a distressed aria
sounding his discomfort.
That it was existential, and not hunger, thirst,
tiredness, or physical pain, meant nothing
to him. Without language
as a stingy placeholder, the word Existential
was no more than a whiff of flatulence,
or evil wind stirring the mobile
of planets and stars above his head,
that he gawked at night after night,
amused by their rotation and melody.
 Continue reading →
Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment