Tag Archives: body

Enclosure

Posted on April 15, 2026 by John Biscello

Her body, her body breaking in time, a vivid stutter and scratch, repeated in my mind’s amateur attempts to braid or grasp what amounts to sand in wind— Life, oh life, a series of manic shutters and twitches, threaded to … Continue reading →

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Hymn

Posted on April 14, 2026 by John Biscello

In her body, her body, repeatable as scorch and given grail, I come blindly into words, so many words, a stunning slate of Braille and seductive run-on— my fingers, dodo in their impossible flights, stutter and fail to reach the … Continue reading →

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Empire Strikes Back

Posted on November 13, 2025 by John Biscello

   Her hips began the snake-dance, the spasmodic wiggle. She told me to listen closely, and her hips began hissing a slow cadence, the world losing its air, the world a depleted lunar asthmatic in need of oxygen blasts. My … Continue reading →

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That Thing With Feathers

Posted on November 13, 2025 by John Biscello

   As she moved her bladed hips beneath him, small dark starshaped birds tore out of her hips, scissoring the air, and were then immediately sucked back into her hips, as if by an invisible vacuum.    He stopped, and … Continue reading →

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Pirate Radio

Posted on November 13, 2025 by John Biscello

   Hips don’t lie. They are the truth-telling giants and the whistle-blowers transmitting through pirate radio. They are also the catacombs and weather satellites of one’s cumulative genealogy. When an old person falls and breaks their hip, it is not … Continue reading →

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Gremlins

Posted on November 13, 2025 by John Biscello

   I can no longer remember where I was when it happened, only that it happened, it must have happened. Sometimes we cry silent recordings in our bones, or guts, or maybe it is our hips that are the primary … Continue reading →

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Hips Don’t Lie

Posted on November 13, 2025 by John Biscello
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Hips Don’t Lie

Posted on September 16, 2025 by John Biscello

The hips don’t lie. They are the truth-telling giants, and the whistle-blowers transmitting through pirate radio. They are also the catacombs and weather satellites of one’s cumulative genealogy. When an old person falls and breaks their hip, it is not … Continue reading →

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Hips

Posted on September 16, 2025 by John Biscello

I can no longer remember where I was when it happened, only that it happened, it must have happened. Sometimes we cry silent recordings in our bones, or guts, or maybe it is our hips that are the primary storehouses … Continue reading →

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Mirror

Posted on September 15, 2025 by John Biscello

She opened her stomach. I took out my lighter, produced a flame, and cast light into the darkness. I saw a single object, a mirror. A square mirror with a baroque metal exterior: cursive, elegant. I saw part of my … Continue reading →

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