Tag Archives: poem

Nipples don’t Kill

Posted on May 8, 2022 by John Biscello

In the feral country of nipples,where she-wolves raisetheir pups to howl unashamedlyat the moon,many many men,unconsciously ensnaredin puritanical roots,fear, scorn and revilethe mystery of the female nipple,its organic promise of milk and eternitytoo vagrantly radiantfor many many men’s eyes to … Continue reading →

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John Fante

Posted on April 4, 2022 by John Biscello

April 8th will mark the 113th birthday of Mr. John Fante. His delightful landmine of a novel, Ask the Dust (published in 1939) along with the other three novels which chronicled the exploits of his feisty alter-ego, Arturo Bandini, remain … Continue reading →

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Tatters

Posted on March 23, 2022 by John Biscello

For many years I asked Grief to wait outside my window, a peripheral guest chancing obscure, fugitive details, and lighted tatters. Have I been a poor host, stranger to my own ghost and remnants?

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The Argument

Posted on March 23, 2022 by John Biscello

Reality and me have disagreements all the time. Reality is, by nature, inviolable. And a bit of an existential bully. I am, by illicit union, a child of fiction. And tender in the center. Reality and me don’t always see … Continue reading →

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God’s Word Against Mine

Posted on January 24, 2022 by John Biscello

And on the eighth day she was diagnosed an Artist, and saw that it was good and fierce and necessary, and went forth creating like a madwoman, rattling gravity shackles to the din of furor and crumbling towers within. (Poem … Continue reading →

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This Dreamed Life

Posted on December 22, 2021 by John Biscello

Remember me to the ease of light, its pause and passage, we are not long for this earth, which swallows us, and our lovetagged bones, as a matter of natural course and radical recomposition, all the gifts, and hopes unwound … Continue reading →

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Seating Arrangement

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

The girl in the chair is no longer the girl in the chair, she is neither here nor there, she is always and forget-me-not, soul-spray and glacial uproar causing a siege, she is the spidery patterns of her exploded heart, … Continue reading →

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Please Sit Down

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

No sitters to tend, solvent to its own winter, if these floors could talk.

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A Star is Born

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

Rending the cosmos, to midwife its own star-seed, to papoose night-bloom.

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Chain Reaction

Posted on December 21, 2021 by John Biscello

Night swallowing its own tale of snake swallowing its own tail of night.

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