Tag Archives: poem

Cavespeak

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes it is like surfing the gloam and reaching down to draw softly rounded syllables from curdles of gray in order to raise the heart’s homesick climes from its deepest and most hidden caves.

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Plaything

Posted on June 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Fictionalize me, martyr me to your crosses and lost causes, give me a form by which my double can register touch, and seeds of desire, twitching and sputtering in the blue flames of fabulous opera, make me the husky baritone … Continue reading →

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Mouth

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

That mouth, I remember, an evocative nursery of lost things, a fierce swallower of galactic bulbs and starburned roots, it took in so much, didn’t it? announcing to the belly’s slowchurning greenfire, to the lips bluequiver icegarden riot, I am … Continue reading →

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Plume

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

Your specific brood, and row of white noise, coupled with blood running its own goverment like a harem spooning an undertow, it is there, I loiter, taking notes through the ribbed plume of my softest tongue.

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Eventide

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

The grayvoice, wrinkly in its soiled pucker and ancientnewness, heeded, and sung, to freight and hoist the downgoing adventure up, up, up into silvercoined spates of eventide, the furthest reaches so damned close to dreamcountry it hurts to fathom or … Continue reading →

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Roots

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

My heart, forever the weeded ace and wandering fool, scored to secret pines, sings of resident gloam pooled in that forest of backlit signs, which grows beyond its clipped horizons to invigorate departures, spurred by the genius of wordless roots.

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Piracy

Posted on June 11, 2018 by John Biscello

To dig nails into the ciphered history of her skin, unmapped, to take a pirate’s tack in plundering the source of her sap and scent, flagged on the bare teeth of wolves wind.  

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Recording Live

Posted on June 11, 2018 by John Biscello

To abide, faithfully, the recording angel on my shoulder, to dream, trebled, with eyes and ears open, glass pressed against the thin, plasmic veil separating one world from the next, a straddler and eavesdropper, since Childhood, on behalf of a … Continue reading →

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Forecast

Posted on June 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Ask the divine wordless forecast, ask the motherless child staring off into the distance as she sails a paper airplane out the opened window.

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Beginner’s Heart

Posted on June 9, 2018 by John Biscello

I have spent so many years detailing and outlining and mapping out fractures, a pirate osteopath with a cartographer’s bent, and now, galvanizing a mutiny meant to take me out into uncharted waters, I see, beyond my terror of the … Continue reading →

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