Tag Archives: poem

Slowtorch

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

Beneath the cauterized furies, and unspent silences, amounting to greater deficit, there is, and always has been, at heart’s nimbus base, a soft, wistful melancholy, not unlike the adagio threads of rain silvering the opened palms of a small child, … Continue reading →

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In My Solitude

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

It is, for me, as well as other writers of a certain breed, a familiar haunt and barbed echo, that fear of being found out and exposed as a fraud and imposter, some busted metaphor that won’t hold up under … Continue reading →

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Glistening

Posted on June 2, 2018 by John Biscello

It is sudden, this life, a billowing pop-up tent for the quick and the dead. And how true that, its frayed denouements of thread lead you back and back again through that labyrinth, its spool of yarn the ravels of … Continue reading →

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Ghostlight

Posted on June 2, 2018 by John Biscello

It could be like this. Early morning, light milkpooling at the edges of your bed, dawnfrost bleaching your bare feet and subtly wriggling toes softly phantom, and I follow the erogenous ghost past your shins, to the rounded pate of … Continue reading →

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Wildflowers

Posted on June 1, 2018 by John Biscello

The child in me the fire carrier has always wanted to love big with no barriers or wind tunnels or bubble-clots to gum up the flow. I think maybe this is the Paradise whose greenest tips I have grazed and … Continue reading →

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How the Heart

Posted on June 1, 2018 by John Biscello

The sound, the fury, and brassy racket the multitudes within have made on my behalf, or fractures to mend, yet my heart, bare in its asking and grievous wants, resounds its measureless bask to innocence with no end or fixed … Continue reading →

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Mount

Posted on May 31, 2018 by John Biscello

To sire a riptide, the roseblood moon, fully engorged, sank lower and lower, its binding navel grazing the lattice mouth and lacy tease of a sea forever beckoning softly creased light to charge and mount.  

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Dante’s Fire Drill

Posted on May 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Forget about it I said it’s fire under the bridge and watched from a distance as the flames and smoke rose over the sea as if Dante’s infernal take on the Birth of Venus.

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Trail

Posted on May 30, 2018 by John Biscello

My stubborn when growing sawteeth fierce as fuck rails against the moon and sun and sea and me bracing that double-edged notion to have to hold in trying to shape the music of air into something that leaves behind a … Continue reading →

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Live from Eden

Posted on May 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Her talk of bruised skin, and how it caught fire on the far side of trespass, fascinated me to no end. She wanted to burn clean through, didn’t want to hear any more talk about cooler heads prevailing, or stubborn … Continue reading →

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