Tag Archives: love

Pour

Posted on December 15, 2017 by John Biscello

So much light poured in, so much passive worth.

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Levitation

Posted on December 13, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.    Anya and I were seated on the rubber mat in the front hallway.    We had been playing marbles. Or rather our own version of marbles, which we called Marble Mash. After having … Continue reading →

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Arc

Posted on December 11, 2017 by John Biscello

It is the mouth birthing a blood-new kiss that begs gravity’s pardon and raises lips to an impossible arc.

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The Writing Life

Posted on December 10, 2017 by John Biscello

Pen, referencing a glossary of soul, scratches out excess to clarify Eternity, finger-holds, tenuous at best, dignify the mount of a marvelously impossible task.

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White Bird

Posted on December 9, 2017 by John Biscello

She, full of secret pines, shadow-limbed beneath a pale disc of winter sun, waltzing solo in snow-caked hills, blood-red quill tucked behind her left ear, just in case the urge to climb spires and trace spheres via a fierce run … Continue reading →

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Mary

Posted on December 7, 2017 by John Biscello

      It was a scorcher. One of those ovenbake summer days where you feel like you’re huffing fur.    I had decided to take a stroll around the neighborhood, and re-acclimate myself.    As I walked down the block … Continue reading →

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Zuzu’s Petals

Posted on December 7, 2017 by John Biscello

  A father’s pocket, containing secret petals— the meaning of love.

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Claim for the Meek

Posted on December 7, 2017 by John Biscello

I do not want to see the face of God. I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked, the causal history of lines and fissures; want to trace, with blind mute innocence, the light quartered and … Continue reading →

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They Are Their Own

Posted on December 5, 2017 by John Biscello

Do you know where your children are? Or rather who, in their ripening pedigree and new language they are in the process of becoming? Make no mistake They are not nor have they ever been yours belonging infinitely to the … Continue reading →

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Pigtails

Posted on December 5, 2017 by John Biscello

   There was that day you wore your hair in pigtails.    You were thirteen. Pigtails and a pale blue summer dress. I think the dress was new.    My mother had died three days earlier.    You and I … Continue reading →

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