Tag Archives: Poetry

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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Two Events

Posted on January 9, 2026 by John Biscello

Upcoming events for The Last Furies on the Left Coast: * Reverie Bookstand (1519 W. Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles), January 17th at 7pm* Lucky 13 Gallery (391 Coronado Avenue, Long Beach), 2pm I will be reading excerpts from the novel, … Continue reading →

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A Brief History of Love

Posted on December 22, 2025 by John Biscello

Here, her mother said, pressing something into her palm.    A phantom tack. A concentrated pinch. Something sharp breaking skin and spreading heat.    She looked down. Her palm now tattooed with a tangle of dark glyphs, a concert of … Continue reading →

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Zuzu’s Petals

Posted on December 21, 2025 by John Biscello

A father’s pocket, containing secret petals— the meaning of love.

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Hymn

Posted on December 21, 2025 by John Biscello

We are here, but briefly,shadows of candle-lightdancing between dust and choir,day and night,so consider todaya good dayto begin, or to continueunwrapping yourself,and giving you to you as a gift,your soul rightfully taggedas both receiver and sender,in what constitutesa wild embracing … Continue reading →

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Locomotive

Posted on December 15, 2025 by John Biscello

   You didn’t dream her, you who are slowly climbing aboard a locomotive, being watched, so you feel, by whom? The needling press and burn of eyes on your back, itchy hot collar, you scratch, you cough, you take a … Continue reading →

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Torch Song

Posted on December 12, 2025 by John Biscello

   She is there. She is always there, in the corridor. And she is lonely. This much I know. Lonely as a form of cold that you cannot cover with blankets or insulate against with coats and scarves and such. … Continue reading →

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Talisman

Posted on December 4, 2025 by John Biscello

Wordwise, edges and ledges: we are falling off. We, as in word-wielding also world-wearied, we, an endangered species, parrots with branded larynxes … falling off. Ask a stranger to cup your balls (male or female you, no matter) as you … Continue reading →

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Intimate Measures

Posted on December 3, 2025 by John Biscello

It is a lonely road. The road made of words. The words stay put. The feelings don’t. The words crystallize, become the flambed edges of something soft in the center. It is a struggle within, and a turn-on, mud-wrestling false … Continue reading →

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