Tag Archives: Poetry

Wound

Posted on August 10, 2017 by John Biscello

After the first wounding, a necessary course of retrieval was set. She entered herself, a ritual sacrifice to the gods of trespass. She wouldn’t move on until every single pore radiated symmetry undisturbed.

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Mystery

Posted on August 10, 2017 by John Biscello

Because we never met, you will forever and always remain the fretted girl behind double crossed scratched glass square rooted Brooklyn train station blues, the soundless frozen fragment of a life running on and outward bound.

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Ballad

Posted on August 10, 2017 by John Biscello

In a realm of plastic fable, and reversal of lore, the hooded naif, after years of stalking the shadow of the beast, has him within arm’s length, preparing to reach in and retrieve the swallowed moon, the bones of a … Continue reading →

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Ashprint

Posted on August 9, 2017 by John Biscello

Out of the ashes arose nothing recognizable. Embers, in memory, projected a blank sheaf of light to cover the loss.

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Canticle

Posted on July 26, 2017 by John Biscello

The stars indelibly printed on obsidian reams of sky, a course in illuminated text by which we redeem the necessary canticle to cite a gilded theme.

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Grapple

Posted on July 25, 2017 by John Biscello

To constantly grapple with the past feels like strangling a mannequin, your hands sacrificed to false intimacy and the empty reaping of love’s labor by unreal standards.

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Citrus

Posted on July 23, 2017 by John Biscello

  Upon a citrus-infused sky, bright and sorry, the dance of acidic vapors and serpentine ravels, assuming the burden of a faceless woman, basking

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Touch

Posted on July 20, 2017 by John Biscello

It is the quiet history of touch, tendered through years of symmetry and fable, a radiant pulsing in the spaces between fingers, holy derived, charging us to mercy and enclosure.

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What Remains?

Posted on July 18, 2017 by John Biscello

If I were to go tomorrow, and by go I mean no more spells of wonder, or lines leveling a manic fate, no more ancient fireflies like safety pins fastening us to thin, thin dreams, all our hollow and chaste … Continue reading →

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Thursday’s Child

Posted on July 15, 2017 by John Biscello

Wrapped snugly in a blanket of godlight, Thursday’s child indwells the symmetry of tigers burning bright to leave tracks on empty.  

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