Tag Archives: Beauty

Morning

Posted on April 11, 2018 by John Biscello

Scars worn out to fade, old records played in small hours– Dreams chased by morning.

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Bath

Posted on April 11, 2018 by John Biscello

Sun, drizzling pink onto the rim of the tub– Lady, soaked, warms up.

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Next

Posted on April 10, 2018 by John Biscello

The lushest red rose, a fragile torch passed, to grace whatever comes next.

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Sylvia, Triptych

Posted on March 25, 2018 by John Biscello

Perhaps, Miss Sylvia, if there had been more sand on your beach, more sea to wash away the dead skin of pallid thoughts, more moonstruck nights rattling close to your fingers as you typed out the country of your heart, … Continue reading →

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Edie

Posted on March 16, 2018 by John Biscello

Too many small hours pimped out to wraiths on parade– Heart, in real time, breaks.

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Man on a Bicycle

Posted on February 28, 2018 by John Biscello

The man, to make a living, had plastered hundreds of faces upon walls, but there was something about this one which held him captive. It wasn’t just the stardom of her name, its siren-call, but the sheer magnitude of artifice, … Continue reading →

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Bonepick

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. Whether or not they help is either of primary consequence or none at all. Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard in order to reach the garden. This what I tell … Continue reading →

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Soma

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

It is, at winter’s finite edge, that we glean the bent, palsied bloom, somatic in its turn toward Spring’s inevitable host.  

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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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Silent Night

Posted on January 10, 2018 by John Biscello

The ongoing rabble and cinematic narrative in my mind is finding how nourishing and full and tender the heart can grow steeped in silence alone.  

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