Tag Archives: John Biscello

Crossing

Posted on May 3, 2016 by John Biscello

A mirror, tilted, starkly pooling lovers self-similar turns and views of each other; I am I, you are you, qualifiers blurred and dissolved in a furious crossing of ritual desires.

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Review of Carnet d’AmeriKa

Posted on May 2, 2016 by John Biscello

Carnet d’AmeriKa, Erin Currier (2016, CSF Publishing) “To be human is to transform; to be human is to name, then name anew. I must remember the inseparable nature of word and action.” Erin Currier, November 6th, 2004  In a sense … Continue reading →

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After Party

Posted on May 2, 2016 by John Biscello

She, Lazarus, back from the dead, with a musical vengeance— A beat, Christ, please, she asks of her martyred D.J., half-light, half-man, and out climbs her voice, grinding through rubble, a dark velvet toy wound up for centuries, released, on … Continue reading →

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Fete

Posted on May 2, 2016 by John Biscello

At the window, creamed in pale light and amber, a gauzy feting of an interior life, as if solitude, doubly engaged, rears company from silence.

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Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

Anne Sexton: tall and lovely and dead, and I, turning the knob, want to get in and fuck her, but cannot, because she is dead. So really, I wanted to, past tense.                                                             The point being: how I wanted to … Continue reading →

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Flaubert in Brooklyn

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

Madame Bovary bawling on a street corner– I’d throw her a bang.

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Ophelia’s Blues

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

  Her sad, sea-green dress, an epitaph, rippling quietly, as if in a dream. The small history of a fresh wraith, white fingers forever separating the bones from the silt.

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Feral

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

At risk of possession by fire, how, in the ripe grip of new language, we grow feral along a trackless rim, greening desire.

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Pinch

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

To hell, lovingly, with gravity as it claims one’s pulse and vitals; a precipitous plunge into faith at the far end of a diminishing tunnel pinched by light.

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Immigration Laws

Posted on April 30, 2016 by John Biscello

We are immigrants in our own skin, flash-fire refugees who get by with falsified papers, fake IDs, and forged signatures. If caught and found guilty of a trespass or transgression, we pardon ourselves in our native tongues, language a placeholder … Continue reading →

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