Tag Archives: Literary

Banana: Love, Andy

Posted on May 17, 2016 by John Biscello

A religious protuberance, a monkey’s Marxist gag. To be eaten, to be peddled, to be inserted or diagnosed, a digestible comic device, precursor to aerial pies and throwaway wives. Banana. As a word, it teases and amuses, does not take … Continue reading →

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Hamlet Responding to Ophelia’s Proposal, a Haiku Film

Posted on May 17, 2016 by John Biscello

(Hamlet, played by Christopher Walken Ophelia, played by Natalie Wood Setting, a boat) To be or not to be together forever!? I feel like a swim. You? BLACKOUT

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Flicker

Posted on May 16, 2016 by John Biscello

(In response to Josef Sudek’s “Morning Viaducts”) Can you hear, the cobbled morning streets gathering in thick coarse hands the staccato clang of hooves and thin gray voices arising from the ghosts of people caught in a sudden sonata? Can … Continue reading →

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Red Herrings, Chinese Whispers

Posted on May 16, 2016 by John Biscello

  Excerpt from my new novel Raking the Dust: Over the next couple of hours we compressed our lives into annotated and selective biographies that we laid on the table, right next to our drinks. That’s how D.J. came to … Continue reading →

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Girl in Yellow Raincoat, and Dog

Posted on May 16, 2016 by John Biscello

The rain, like gospel acid, dissolves and revives in equal measures. Parts of girl and dog, melted, weeping off the shallow cliff of curbside. The girl’s features have been washed away by the storm, yet the embryonic portrait of her … Continue reading →

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O’ Keefe, Yellow Flower

Posted on May 15, 2016 by John Biscello

The sex of yellow, its pealed strife and resin. Or how a specter, a sensual crumple and crepe, butter-tongued, makes time with a pair of honeyed tonsils, coercing a holler, a yodel, aria raging blonde over brood, the Belle’s Seduction, … Continue reading →

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Husk

Posted on May 15, 2016 by John Biscello

The quiet net of one’s fingers, mute and aggrieved, yet lapping volumes of light, a measureless brood husking the dark to derive a glean, its rivet bound to the commonest plight.

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Craft

Posted on May 13, 2016 by John Biscello

A chipped blue vase, void of flowers, holding so much perfect air, how we, abiding a course of reform, charge particles with intent to respire, craft bred by labor’s lighted resolve.

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The Hero’s Early Journey

Posted on May 13, 2016 by John Biscello

  Joe Campbell, age two, teething on his toy Muse– in a sense,  Bliss.    

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Almost Found in Translation

Posted on May 12, 2016 by John Biscello

  If, by chance or mistake, I have given you inscrutable glyphs, it is only because I, the translator, struggle mightily and mostly fail to translate the parts of me gone missing.

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