Tag Archives: Literary

Bearing

Posted on August 18, 2016 by John Biscello

Friends, and loved ones, I know that so many of you are struggling with shadow-play right now, that your hands are busy knitting in the dark, negotiating long-held absences and haunts, humanly attempting to massage muddle and confusion into clarity; … Continue reading →

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Beat, Bop & Abstraction

Posted on August 12, 2016 by John Biscello

It took place in an amnesiac haze and fury, numberless nights of lightningspeak and opiate rabble, rocketfuel and anti-freeze, bright ribbons of noise amounting to worry stones indenting the soft pink center of palms, on and on and on, fugitive … Continue reading →

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At the Bottom of Childhood’s Well

Posted on August 12, 2016 by John Biscello

   It is a magic time, it is a deadly time.    We are fresh and newly forming, we excel in discoveries, delight in newness.    Our souls are malleable, there is fluidity and grace oozing from us, and with … Continue reading →

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Some Kind of Summer

Posted on August 9, 2016 by John Biscello

   J.B., I have to kill someone by the end of summer.    Joe Ninj stated this casually, as if it were a school assignment or project with a deadline.    Five minutes earlier we had been integrated into our … Continue reading →

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Glow

Posted on August 8, 2016 by John Biscello

The coke parties were my favorite. It was when everyone was happiest. Everyone meant my father, my mother, and their friends, Teddy and Debby. Occasionally, Debby’s brother, Wayne,  was part of everyone. My mother would say—Teddy and Debby are coming … Continue reading →

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Bedsores

Posted on July 31, 2016 by John Biscello

In the permanent flophouse Love reigns supreme— A tried and torn migrant ready to drop from chronic fatigue.

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Dirty Dancing in the Dark

Posted on July 29, 2016 by John Biscello

   Brooklyn, the Walker Theater, 1987.    I am twelve and precariously balancing on the shoulders of Fat Brian.    Come on, you’re not getting any lighter, Fat Brian shouts.    I reach up and lock my fingers around the … Continue reading →

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Meaning of the Mob

Posted on July 28, 2016 by John Biscello

The Meaning of the Mob.  I say, the Mob, meaning the Definitely Uncertain, Fixed—a liberal form of physics— or the clotted swarm wallforming brick by brick, a mosaic pattern.      Pick a number, any number, it’s a given. A given what, … Continue reading →

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Torch Song

Posted on July 7, 2016 by John Biscello

The aureate secrets of silence, stuff stars are made from, and us, cocooned in gauzy slumbers, wink and blink and nod till well-scored we become cinders in a torch song, long-since faded.

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Frame-Up

Posted on July 6, 2016 by John Biscello

(Written in response to Josef Sudek’s “Winter at the Window of my Atelier”)  Winter frame-up of god’s run-on fingerprints, evidence of weary sorrow, mounting, unfinished.

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