Tag Archives: Poetry

Loom

Posted on May 15, 2026 by John Biscello

In the manic solitude of invention and bloom, I shutter to think, therefore I scam, hustling room for one’s own company to keep you, casting, in fuckable thrall.

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Eyes

Posted on May 13, 2026 by John Biscello

I could not stare into anyone’s eyes too long. It was like staring openly at the sun. The light was too much to bear. Not to mention, within the stunning field of light projected from eyes were congealed specks and … Continue reading →

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This Book Doesn’t Resolve Itself

Posted on April 16, 2026 by John Biscello

“So many novels are built around control. Even when they deal with rupture, they shape it into something we can grapple with. Events lead somewhere. Meaning accumulates in a way that can be tracked. By the end, the reader understands … Continue reading →

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Glaze

Posted on April 15, 2026 by John Biscello

Solitude waxing blankly in the company of words— Moon’s forecast: warm, gospel, and fuzzy.

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Vigil

Posted on April 15, 2026 by John Biscello

Clouds, fleecy in glaring mass, softly, softly, the words tender themselves to silence in passing.

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Compass

Posted on April 15, 2026 by John Biscello

It could be called Variations on Love, how we find each other again and again, in different modes and phases, nearness teased out of growth’s grinning desire to story and multiply, to bring lives into exquisite sync and pulse— This, … Continue reading →

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Enclosure

Posted on April 15, 2026 by John Biscello

Her body, her body breaking in time, a vivid stutter and scratch, repeated in my mind’s amateur attempts to braid or grasp what amounts to sand in wind— Life, oh life, a series of manic shutters and twitches, threaded to … Continue reading →

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May-Day

Posted on April 15, 2026 by John Biscello

(Buon compleanno, Nonna Maggio!) As a wounded bird,forever hesitant in flight and gamble,a parable unto your own tender cause,your eyes gave watery wayto a trilling warble,a brave and weary tunethat spoke soundly of hearts breakinginto smiles,never too soonor wasted. (Mat … Continue reading →

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Hymn

Posted on April 14, 2026 by John Biscello

In her body, her body, repeatable as scorch and given grail, I come blindly into words, so many words, a stunning slate of Braille and seductive run-on— my fingers, dodo in their impossible flights, stutter and fail to reach the … Continue reading →

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Micro-Film

Posted on March 5, 2026 by John Biscello

Modeling tense pause in a suspended sentence– noir, titled: Breathless.

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