Tag Archives: love

Memory Babe

Posted on March 12, 2017 by John Biscello

(In honor of Jack Kerouac’s birthday, March 12th, an excerpt from my Greyhound travelogue, “Stray Passages”)    I discovered Kerouac, by chance, when I was nineteen and as a wide-eyed babe greedily suckling Kerouac’s vision-engorged tit, that  which he had … Continue reading →

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Morningbreak

Posted on March 3, 2017 by John Biscello

  I want to eat Anne Sexton for breakfast like toxic cereal like bacon fat like sunbursts of egg yolk swallowed whole and washed down with a glass of fire (then I will spit up the flames burning down the … Continue reading →

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Seeker

Posted on February 4, 2017 by John Biscello

   Ready or not, here I come.    I can still hear my voice, calling out, a bright echo in an archival loop.    Hide and seek was a game we used to play all the time.    At my … Continue reading →

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Meaning of the Mob

Posted on February 1, 2017 by John Biscello

The Meaning of the Mob.  I say, the Mob, meaning the Definitely Uncertain, Fixed—a liberal form of physics— or the clotted swarm wallforming brick by brick, a mosaic pattern.      Pick a number, any number, it’s a given. A given what, … Continue reading →

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Inheritance

Posted on December 29, 2016 by John Biscello

Amidst divisive riot, the clear sound of two tears mating upon the crest of a sunken cheek; a mother’s grief, near to fasting and silence, the warmest cross to inherit in holding the meek inviolate.

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Winter, a Love Story

Posted on December 22, 2016 by John Biscello

Winter’s brides, wearing long white scarves of sleet and song, touching pale sky to blue lips, breathing memory and frost; their sorrow and spectral want grows hands  that enclose me, a robust crush, matrimonial in its grip, until I am … Continue reading →

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Zuzu’s Petals

Posted on December 22, 2016 by John Biscello

(It’s a Wonderful Life haiku) A father’s pocket, containing secret petals— the meaning of love.

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First Love, Winter

Posted on December 22, 2016 by John Biscello

Boy and girl, sledding tongues, no words— Winter, warming up.

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Gateway

Posted on December 2, 2016 by John Biscello

  It is here in this place, this chaste hollow, where my heart, bare to touch and asking, reveals itself in equal measures as gospel and wound, singing softly its locks and ravels to reach another’s lighted room, unbarred.

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Review of Raking the Dust on Book-Tastings

Posted on November 17, 2016 by John Biscello

Grateful for the appraisal & support, especially since I am seeking a new home for my orphan-child, after my publisher recently closed its doors. “And the award for Best Indie Read So Far goes to…..Raking the Dust by John Biscello. … Continue reading →

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