Tag Archives: Literary

Tilt

Posted on February 21, 2018 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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Henry, June, Anais, 2018

Posted on February 21, 2018 by John Biscello

Henry’s cell, his first ever, gave rise to a new breed of anxiety and impatience.    Fretfully awaiting Anais’s text, he stared at the dark electronic device cradled in his palm, and keenly felt pangs of nostalgia.    He recalled … Continue reading →

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The Upstart Scarecrow

Posted on February 21, 2018 by John Biscello

(Listen to the spoken word track here.) There he goes um-humh that’s him Willy Shakes the upstart scarecrow and derelict poet of the barrio and bodegas— gin rummy seizures and shaker of visions— hangnail to a scab dude rips it up … Continue reading →

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Anya Rising

Posted on February 21, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    I see her rising off the bathroom tiles, toes pointing downward.    I know this is a dream but I also know this actually happened, once, a long time ago.    Except then Anya … Continue reading →

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Sunder

Posted on February 20, 2018 by John Biscello

To leave sheer vowels and sudden clefts upon the warm, dream-wet infinity of skin, so wherever she goes, whenever, sundered verses will marvel as placeholders.

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Slingshot

Posted on February 20, 2018 by John Biscello

From a distance, within, the story of a writer’s life in the day of fiction’s living wake.

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Fictioning Anya

Posted on February 19, 2018 by John Biscello

   (Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn.)    Anya, Julia weighed the name softly on her tongue. Anya. Wait, she was the one they found in the trashcan when she was a baby, right?    The one and only.    Yes … Continue reading →

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Ember

Posted on February 19, 2018 by John Biscello

How a writer, cave-timing dark and solitude, annoints an ember by crafting the small hours into a flagrant torch.

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Wish You Were Here

Posted on February 19, 2018 by John Biscello

 Send us postcards from your loneliest places, your fault-lines and secret rivets, send us words and we promise not to burn them, we promise that something of the ineffable will stick, as if a lasting thorn in God’s bruised paw.

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If L.L. Cool J. and Sylvia Plath Had Gotten Down

Posted on February 19, 2018 by John Biscello

Listen to the spoken word track w/ music here. Don’t call it a Comeback— L.L. Cool J. wooing Sylvia Plath in broad daylight where they dance and get crazy theatrical doing the Lazarus (and doing it and doing it well) Sylvia … Continue reading →

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