Tag Archives: between worlds

Locomotive

Posted on December 15, 2025 by John Biscello

   You didn’t dream her, you who are slowly climbing aboard a locomotive, being watched, so you feel, by whom? The needling press and burn of eyes on your back, itchy hot collar, you scratch, you cough, you take a … Continue reading →

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

City Lights

Posted on December 11, 2025 by John Biscello

   There’s something wrong with him, my father said. Look at him. Something’s not right. Something’s happened to him. He’s sick. All he thinks about is writing. That’s all he thinks about. He is blue.    Even though I wasn’t … Continue reading →

Posted in Cinema, Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Manna

Posted on October 14, 2025 by John Biscello

Do not say the thing that is easily said. Say the other, say the nothing, say the silence, say the unsayable, and save yourself (sort of) through the saying. Gold dust wafts down like filigreed motes from a rain-swollen ceiling. … Continue reading →

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

Recorded Live

Posted on February 22, 2024 by John Biscello

In the cinema, hypnotized. I died a drugged and stupefied death again and again, crucified by the diminished returns of flickering images. I die, tranquilized, a sweetly solemn refugee from reality. This is the escapist way, its creed. Why pretend … Continue reading →

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

Test Dummies

Posted on February 18, 2024 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Worlds Last Imagined, novel in progress). We saw them carrying life-sized dummies to the town square. It was eerie how each dummy so closely resembled the person who was carrying it. We watched as all the dummies were … Continue reading →

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

Funereal

Posted on February 17, 2024 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Worlds Last Imagined, novel in progress.) Last night Ariana and I attended our own funerals. It was something we did from time to time. We saw ourselves, lying there, pretending to be dead, saw a wavering horde of … Continue reading →

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

Gloaming

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

At twilight, the softly paling into summer plum sky, sliver of moon suspended like a bone-white boomerang in the distance, narrow street courting its void with dignity— What kind of dream is this, which reminds you there is nothing to … Continue reading →

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

In Dreams Begin First Person

Posted on May 23, 2022 by John Biscello

I am running.It feels like I’ve been running for a long time.I want to turn around and look behind me but my neck is locked into place.So I can’t see who or what is chasing me, but I know it’s … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, Books, photography, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Icy Hot

Posted on April 19, 2020 by John Biscello

Between worlds, vying for merger, the reigning glacial celibacy of stars, and the marvelous frisson of pure mortal throb— Where you are not, find your ghost’s bluest breath of want upon a mirrored caste of longing.

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

Thirteen Ways of Visioning a Crow

Posted on April 5, 2020 by John Biscello

I. Remember that nouns, verbs and adjectives are made-up things. Crows, on the other hand, are real to life, and winged. II. Place a walnut at the edge of a curb. Wait for a crow to swoop down and take … Continue reading →

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