Tag Archives: abstract

Remains of the Day

Posted on July 15, 2025 by John Biscello

Time, ordered to frieze, and meld its constituents– No eyewitnesses.

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Doll

Posted on November 18, 2022 by John Biscello

Nineteen rifles and the village was burned to the ground nineteen rifles stolen by rebels and then came the awful burning down what was called scorched earth policy. My mother my father my brother were burned down to the ground … Continue reading →

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In Our Solitude

Posted on November 17, 2022 by John Biscello

Near to the bones of warming solitude. Within vagrancy’s timelocked spells we wander you could say we are wanderstruck. Modes of lyrical living allows us to bask in living alone in the company of words stories voices. For them we … Continue reading →

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Woven

Posted on November 16, 2022 by John Biscello

In the beginning the dreaming not the word. The word came later. It came whenever and betrayed silence and this was the beginning of fiction. Now you’ve got what passes for a world of dreaming of fiction and parallels splintered … Continue reading →

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Here There Be Dream Tigers

Posted on November 14, 2022 by John Biscello

Here we are hooded in shadows with tigers green fire eyes lighting up new seasons. Tigers green fire eyes the forests of emeralds burning of bedazzlement and jade bewitching. We enter calmly at our own risk. We heard that one … Continue reading →

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To No End

Posted on November 11, 2022 by John Biscello

Texts to be read aloud inside your head while no one is listening. This one of the directives we received. We also heard Your ears may start to burn as if a forest fire is burning inside your head a … Continue reading →

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Jackson Pollock

Posted on May 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Out of silence, and lidded smolder, arose a localized storm. You could say it was a balletic squall forecasting its own tyrant reign and fall, a fate designed to galvanize and then blackout not so gently into that goodnight exit … 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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Red, Black

Posted on March 22, 2018 by John Biscello

To paint a blood-sport, matador, faring no bull– dark, in need of stars.   (Artwork by Mark Rothko)

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Jackson Pollock

Posted on March 21, 2018 by John Biscello

  Ballet in a storm, one man’s kinetic forecast– You will know my name.

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