Tag Archives: Poetry

Flint

Posted on June 8, 2016 by John Biscello

A scissored valentine walked into a hard case. The floor, a silent witness, held its tongue. It was one of those Sundays that was acting like a Tuesday. Scrambled eggs, jazz, and a wet book of matches. This wasn’t going … Continue reading →

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Factory Maiden

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello

Recursively spooling the It-Girl’s Factorymade cool fast fade from the pinwheel galaxy of stars & soupcans– Mmmm mmmm good, for a hot fixed minute during the candyrigged reign of Warhol the Ain’t– Is you is or is you not Aint’s … Continue reading →

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Pandora’s Boxcutter

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello

Against a wall Pandora turns to burn holes in the hopeful gazes & visionclench of every last peeping no-show; succubus to perps & prey, she swallows their hunger & cameras whole.

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The Gospel According to Jazz

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello

Bird, unfettered, blowing his soul through a horn– breath scoring God.

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Isn’t it Romantic?

Posted on June 5, 2016 by John Biscello

Baby Byron didn’t yet have language, so he twisted and contorted his face into a mask, a distressed aria sounding his discomfort. That it was existential, and not hunger, thirst, tiredness, or physical pain, meant nothing to him. Without language … Continue reading →

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Peter Parker’s Blues

Posted on June 3, 2016 by John Biscello

As a kid I wanted to be you. Swinging, from building to building, across the cityscape, sticking to walls with velcroed hands and feet, no fear of falling, no Icarus complex crippling your confidence in upward mobility.

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Tunnel

Posted on May 29, 2016 by John Biscello

Consider the mole, a small important god, unfettered by dreams of flight or fugitive arcs, gathering briskly the dark into its labor, leveling a dig to assume no chances or saviors

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Arson

Posted on May 27, 2016 by John Biscello

To speak fire these days, to claim desire in a fierce consumptive manner, is no longer a popular notion, no longer in vogue. It is an outworn, outmoded, out-dated form of expression. We know too much, we know too much … Continue reading →

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Out of Blue

Posted on May 26, 2016 by John Biscello

It’s in the eyes. A hard crystal blue, lovely and liquid, charged by a hidden fever wired to the source and its tangled roots. Ancient autumn tree stripped of its skin, nesting psychic lesions that no one can see; at … Continue reading →

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road trip w/ cocorosie

Posted on May 25, 2016 by John Biscello

two sisters, sawed in half at birth, dys membered family roots splintered, offshooting scraps, tatters, shotgun hobbyhorses cruising high noons in dada’s sedan, desert sun bleeding maraschino, while the sisters suctioned to red backseat vinyl, swill acid lemonade from styrofoam … Continue reading →

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