Tag Archives: John Biscello

Devotional

Remember me to the ease of light, its pause and passage, we are not long for this earth, which swallows us, and our lovetagged bones, as a matter of natural course and radical recomposition, all the gifts, and hopes unwound … Continue reading

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Metamorphosis Variations

I. As I awoke one morning, from a blue-dark night of drinking and uneasy dreams, I found myself transformed into a cockroach. Figures it’d be a cockroach, skidded a deadpan between a head full of swollen thoughts.  With newfound prehistoric … Continue reading

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Sate

Excepting the lines, a sated merger, bonding human to divine.   (Constantin Brancusi’s “Kiss”)    

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Likeness

slow beating ache keeping time to breaking lore and softcore myth rising to tease and strip heaven’s knee of its skin my god yes spit and blood and light and yes remixed to teach you and me what angels be … Continue reading

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Visitation

Above all else, (she told me, her smile a glowing sickle) dignity and grace, for each and every soul on this planet, no one above, no one below, and everything I mean everything you truly need to know you’ve already … Continue reading

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Mystery

It’s strange how you can miss someone you’ve never met as if the ache bears a secret history exclusive to its own sense of mystery and rivet.

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Red Alert

While the beauty and magmic intensity of Vesuvius is something to behold it pales in comparison to Pele’s fire-lipped swallowing of entire islands leaving a blanket of hot ash on a roiling sea where men sacrifice bleeding hearts to the … Continue reading

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Unwrit

I fall in love too easy with phantoms and projections, spectral imprints that pool twilight in their arms for a living. Where people are not, I find myself digging and searching, clawing profusely at beautiful stones until my nails are … Continue reading

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Wordburn

Between the call of bodies, testing the ream of vocabulary’s limits, words exact their talent for slow burn, and quicken to replenish.

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Slant

There are no promissory notes in life, there are fugitive scraps upon which we can opt to scribble our heart’s mind, and most tender sublime, tatters registered to light’s lilting slant, granting us grace from unexpected angles.

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