Tag Archives: Poetry

Regarding Miss Stein

Posted on June 16, 2016 by John Biscello

How the petaled complexities of the infinite rose is a rose is a rose sires tender turns through mounting cursive.

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Finite Jest

Posted on June 15, 2016 by John Biscello

Picking God’s scabs with a savage hangnail— define satire.

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Witness

Posted on June 15, 2016 by John Biscello

Divine, immeasurable wedlock between infinitely charged particles; I, humbly engaged, to bear witness

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Julie

Posted on June 13, 2016 by John Biscello

I. Eyes. When I called them winterblue, you said, oh really, the O a fat bright balloon twisted into a curious animal. Really, I insisted, and explained how, when written, I’d compound winter and blue, words holding hands to get … Continue reading →

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Emily

Posted on June 12, 2016 by John Biscello

You say she knew not God because she scratched under a floorboard all winterlong, the marginal tracks of a starved mouse seeking a piece of brittle crust, maybe a crumb.

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The Flame and the Lotus

Posted on June 10, 2016 by John Biscello

(For Sylvia Plath, 1932-1963) I. sylvia in chains and drag: the green-eyed bee-witch, Ariella, poised on her remote blue star, chilled and unblinking succubus to the men she promises to swallow, whole, like air

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Tinder

Posted on June 9, 2016 by John Biscello

In this lighted instance, a storm-watch of gold bearing the heft of silence and time, slowed. Blue shoulders the collapse of heaven, it is the Atlas underlay, the muscle cloud formation. When the painter dies, this tindered vault will inherit … Continue reading →

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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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