Tag Archives: poem

Altar Piece

Posted on June 17, 2022 by John Biscello

We are the stunning brides of tomorrow, dressing up for ritual matrimony in an airless church where children laugh and hurl gulls of rice, and the candles, matching light to symmetry, never go out.

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Eye Test

Posted on June 17, 2022 by John Biscello

Within the eye of the volatility of metamorphosis, a shuttering, and sacral budding, that speaks in tongues to the fragile wonder of age-new revelations, respiring.

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This is No Ism of Any Kind

Posted on June 1, 2022 by John Biscello
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Stars

Posted on June 1, 2022 by John Biscello

To glean, unerringly,the ripe maternal geniusof soil,she took lucid stockof her originsas a glamorous peasantfrom the cursive fiestaof stars–Words, as sacrosanct bond,became her,if only to negligeethe remote and hidden contoursof her fable unending.

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Fleur de Lis

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

This world,beyond this world,splitting into festive atoms,called upon this woman,beyond this woman,to air with no discretionthe favored breathof blue rosesfalling.

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On the Nature of Writing

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

Begin at the beginning. Who am I? Who is the voice asking who am I? Who is the who observing the voice asking who am I? Who is the who eternally taking notes on the who observing the voice who … Continue reading →

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High Priestess

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

In the lost country of typewriters,and heresies of ink,lived a writer named Clarise,who, longing to syncthe pulse of Godwith sentient spates of text,broke offand plunged soulfirst into a wonderlandof intimately recursive lengths.

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To the Lighthouse

Posted on May 30, 2022 by John Biscello

Here it is, finally. A séance for the living, real-time cinema for possessed bones and sad visionless ghosts, who are on the cusp of claiming their spacious reams of empty, and time-locked vagrancy. The door behind the door has never … Continue reading →

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Postcard from the Edge

Posted on May 25, 2022 by John Biscello
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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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