Tag Archives: Poetry

Pandora

Posted on February 21, 2024 by John Biscello

I won’t call this a book because no one reads books anymore, no one gives two shits and a dime about books. I’ll call this an exalted and long overdue mania, a catalytic inversion, a freebase purge. Whatever, whatever. Voyeurs … Continue reading →

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Station

Posted on February 21, 2024 by John Biscello

Historyless is where I come from, the sun-crotched navel, the part of me not yet born, the part of me dead to the world on its way to being born into the potholes and foothills of unimagined fictions. That, plus … Continue reading →

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Andrea Doria

Posted on February 21, 2024 by John Biscello

Itchy navels, persecutions, manias, projections, snot-rimmed abysses, it’s been a mixed bag of plenty and none, and here I sit with the day’s teeth growing long and chomping down with razor-edged intensity … the stringent air of day after days … Continue reading →

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Casanova’s Memoirs

Posted on February 21, 2024 by John Biscello

The weevils chewing through the wall and burrowing into the hollows. Rot sets in. Yet I wake up and the sun is a perfect circle, a ball of fire, a kissing fool’s star. I smile. To hell with the weevils. … Continue reading →

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Ark

Posted on February 20, 2024 by John Biscello

Semen has flowed. The danger is past. This is an old proverb from a sunken country, a made-up country, a country that no longer exists or never did. This mother country with its many flaring mother tongues and tidals of … Continue reading →

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Music

Posted on February 20, 2024 by John Biscello

We Are Ugly But We Have the Music. This is our title, our collective moniker, our flag. It is a torn and flagless flag, denominating no allegiances, no cultural attachments, no geo-political persuasions or fevered legionspeak. None of that. We … Continue reading →

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Green Dark

Posted on February 8, 2024 by John Biscello

We enter forests at the liminal risk of time lost to the vagrancies of dreaming and silence of choir— Engendered by echoes and bated tense we move on at the mercy of mirrorless haunt.

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Love and Death

Posted on February 8, 2024 by John Biscello

The branch of the tree reaching down. It reaches down to graze the time-scarred headstone, to caress it. Could this be … a secret love story, a love story with no history, or with a cortege of history, spanning many … Continue reading →

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Visitation Rites

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

Metaphors underscore every moment of passage. For example, we, being guests upon this earth but briefly, solidly imagined as entities before dissolving into blurs, en route to fading, among the gusty corteges of transit.

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Passage

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

Empty streets beckon to breed favored solitude among vagrant dreams.

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