Tag Archives: girl

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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The Dream Outward

Posted on December 12, 2018 by John Biscello

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. It helps. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it makes things worse. Or keeps everything the same. Which is a different kind of worse. Anya I long to reach you only because I … Continue reading →

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Level

Posted on July 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Girl, I will write you for a long, seething bask, Light seeks its own level.

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Bare

Posted on June 26, 2018 by John Biscello

She cried, guttural, the slit in her pillowcase harboring years of unheld yesses and scented missives; find me here, destitute, sunproofed, the girl of bare knees and forgotten dreams.

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Girl and the Moon

Posted on June 21, 2018 by John Biscello

There is the snake and there is the amen and perhaps there’s not really much difference between the two. Like you, and the moon, and how my longing bleeds a fugitive overlap, i.e, where exactly does the queenly orb of … Continue reading →

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Mouth

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

That mouth, I remember, an evocative nursery of lost things, a fierce swallower of galactic bulbs and starburned roots, it took in so much, didn’t it? announcing to the belly’s slowchurning greenfire, to the lips bluequiver icegarden riot, I am … Continue reading →

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Claim

Posted on June 5, 2018 by John Biscello

We slowdanced in a house of mirrors. Some of the mirrors had been burned in fires and showed black. Others were webbed in cracks. Still others bore dimensional distortions leading to instant surrealism. When I asked her which of her … Continue reading →

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Desire by Any Other Name

Posted on May 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Adore, how a crush closes in on savored pink, to split flames, and corset ribbed longing.  

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Froth

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

There was pulsing, and founting, the sea caked around her ankles like silky ribbons of froth. It was just a dream, but still I found her, throbbing through dawn.

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Breeze

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

It was the way she danced with words when no one was looking, the slant and tease, fastening my burn to the summer dress spelling out her form to my fingers, their covet to brand and possess, breezing lightly the … Continue reading →

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