Tag Archives: Literary

Far End of the Bar

Posted on May 12, 2016 by John Biscello

   I could write circles around him, Joe said, sipping his whiskey. Look at him, sitting there, Mr. Smug, Mr. Infallible. I should go over there and give him a good what-for.    He’d knock your block off, Bob responded … Continue reading →

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How Tomorrow Moves

Posted on May 11, 2016 by John Biscello

It was a matter of helium-speak, and tomorrow-talk, and bright ribbons of noise amounting to nothing. We, hanging out on the street-corner, conducting ping-pong volleys and raps, ferocity and verve, building ourselves up—who we were and were not, what we … Continue reading →

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Gondola

Posted on May 11, 2016 by John Biscello

Distance, the middle ground between lovers locked in psychic undress; a ritual burlesque exposing wounds, we reverse course and seed safe harbors at the expense of metaphor and masks; intimacy skinned to savor a new course, near to grace, unfiltered.

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After Hours

Posted on May 10, 2016 by John Biscello

Lenny Bruce, seated on a chipped wooden stool, cigarette dangling from his lips, slumping forward, shoulders slack. His mouth puckers, the cigarette jumps to attention, he draws in fiercely, then exhales a series of bluish halos that float and dissipate. … Continue reading →

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Staring at Paintings, Hungry

Posted on May 9, 2016 by John Biscello

Hemingway wrote that he’d go to the Luxembourg, hungry, and stare at the paintings and this was a great way to see art.

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Raising the Bar

Posted on May 9, 2016 by John Biscello

   Dylan Thomas falls off his barstool in Heaven.    Lying on the sawdusty floor, he slurs something about a white horse. And chains, and the sea.    God, who gave Lucifer the night off, is tending bar. He comes … Continue reading →

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Honeymoon, Rinse, Repeat

Posted on May 9, 2016 by John Biscello

She crashed their sixteenth honeymoon, violet lace and camellias, ceremonial fashion for a ritual sacrifice, and reminded him—I will kill your wife however many times need be, my love, to make sure you and I remain bonded and not shackled. … Continue reading →

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The Source

Posted on May 8, 2016 by John Biscello

This poem dedicated to mothers’ everywhere. Their hearts, registered as infinite beacons, have gone gently and luminously into nights not so good and pitch-black, braving flytrap folds and god-awful rows to soothe, mend and restore the bruised vitals of daughters … Continue reading →

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Compass

Posted on May 6, 2016 by John Biscello

Abiding the testimonial of scattered crumbs and clefted petals, I will follow you the snaky length of impossible and hidden places; I will follow you, claiming the hem of your shadow as my guide.

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Meet me at the End of the Tunnel

Posted on May 5, 2016 by John Biscello

Forsaken angel seeking Mortal reprieve– serious applicants only.

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