Tag Archives: Poetry

Votive

Posted on May 11, 2018 by John Biscello

There she is, luscious votive to my jagged script, contours engaged to flesh out missive, sealed in hot wax, lightly scented.    

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Sculpt

Posted on May 10, 2018 by John Biscello

To sculpt, with just the right amount of brandish, and restraint, how you, art to your own crumble and chasten, exact marvel, slowly, at the Muse’s favored bidding.  

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Runes

Posted on May 10, 2018 by John Biscello

Hungry ghosts, gorging, moon-bellied, rending gristle from earthly scavenge— my god, these monsters and their appetites, swallowing illusions whole, to feed empty its runes of fire.

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Breeze

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

It was the way she danced with words when no one was looking, the slant and tease, fastening my burn to the summer dress spelling out her form to my fingers, their covet to brand and possess, breezing lightly the … Continue reading →

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Treaty

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

The warring, within, ended. No one won. White flags, adorning the masts of souls, became the rage and pacific vogue. Ghosts kissed demons, demons kissed children, children blew kisses into the air, christening echoes. I woke up, sudden to my … Continue reading →

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Hide

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

I am guilty of having poured too many words on top, too many phrases turned to silver coins massaged into the gaping eternity of palms, I have done my best to imitate the rain, and have failed, but how fucking … Continue reading →

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Torn

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

All the pearly angels, torn, and wept, like so much confetti in a storm, papering a small world, where heaven closed off to rapt, and cherish got hopelessly lost.

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Shrift

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

The soft bop and shrift of dreams, how they rake and tumble, colored Braille for a blind vagrant, stunned.

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Jackson Pollock

Posted on May 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Out of silence, and lidded smolder, arose a localized storm. You could say it was a balletic squall forecasting its own tyrant reign and fall, a fate designed to galvanize and then blackout not so gently into that goodnight exit … Continue reading →

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Wordplay

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Savor, how words, transgressing grammar, mate in the middle of a sentence and melt, when no one is looking.

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