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Meta
Tag Archives: Literary
Dietrich in Heaven
Spoken word track from the upcoming album Arson & Grace. Featuring Ben Wright on bass. Listen here.
Posted in Audio, Poetry
Tagged Bass, Ben Wright, Heaven, John Biscello, Literary, Marlene Dietrich, music, Poetry, Spoken Word
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Cursive
Stars, ancient cinema illuminating a silent revival in cursive.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Cinema, Cursive, John Biscello, Literary, Poetry, Starry Night, Stars, Van Gogh
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Crossing
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.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry
Tagged Desire, Di Chirico, John Biscello, Literary, Masks, Mirror, Poetry
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After Party
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
Posted in Artwork, Poetry
Tagged Christ, John Biscello, Lady Lazarus, Lazarus, Literary, Poetry
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Fete
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.
Anne Sexton (1928-1974)
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
Posted in Poetry
Tagged anne sexton, John Biscello, Literary, literary biographies, Poetry, sex
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Flaubert in Brooklyn
Madame Bovary bawling on a street corner– I’d throw her a bang.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Brooklyn, Flaubert, John Biscello, Literary, Madame Bovary, Poetry
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Ophelia’s Blues
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.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry
Tagged John Biscello, John Everett Millais, Literary, Ophelia, Poetry
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Feral
At risk of possession by fire, how, in the ripe grip of new language, we grow feral along a trackless rim, greening desire.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged John Biscello, language, Literary, passion, Poetry
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Pinch
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.
John Biscello 