Tag Archives: poem

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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Coil

Posted on February 20, 2018 by John Biscello

To caper at the edge, where the seething lyric happens, poetry with slits and fast teeth, where the hours of phenomena are boiled and reduced to a single quivering instant, an umbilical knot of light upon tenderest scraps and coils. … Continue reading →

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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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Preschool: A Love Story

Posted on February 19, 2018 by John Biscello

Jilly, aged three, bared her teeth & bit Jack, four, hard on the arm, breaking skin & drawing blood. Stunned, Jack’s baby blues ballooned & gaped at Jilly, bright with malice & glee. Why Jilly why, Jack cried, nursing his … Continue reading →

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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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In Praise of Honey

Posted on February 19, 2018 by John Biscello

Listen to the spoken word track (with bass and flute) here. If your body, sungthru riddled and sticky, demanded rechristening for old time’s taste, down I’d go divebombin straight to and through the Source— a treebranch’s wellhung honeycomb totem, ridged bulb … Continue reading →

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Legendless

Posted on February 18, 2018 by John Biscello

Watch the vaudeville sharks take big rending bites out of our amens! and know that our routines, tired and untrue, serve no purpose except diversions which keep tick-talking heads at a low, grave premium, false totems bereft of ceremony and … Continue reading →

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Valentine

Posted on February 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Our Lady of Eternal Valentines, forever bestowing tenderest mercy and heart-shaped harbor to the world’s sorrowful lot.

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Palmistry

Posted on February 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Eternity, misconceived as a noun, and now? My palms stay open all night.

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Cubist Pin-Up

Posted on January 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Psychically dismembered since birth, Grace walked her palms to her feet, and prayed that everything lost, in between, would return ritually transfigured.

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