Tag Archives: story

Jean Rhys

Posted on April 22, 2018 by John Biscello

You held the islands in your eyes, where it rained and rained and then the sun warmed wet to a wafting hiss. This Jean, you, the feline slink, filigreed shock, and sinewy comb of whitelaced waves ruffling upon puttied blobs … Continue reading →

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N.

Posted on April 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Sssshhh, gently now, gently, Love, the slippered guest, the tender trespasser, enters the house of wet leaves, softly, finger pressed to asking lips, no more questions, just this: the sound of rain, pealing, to bless storied thirst.  

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Granny and Chaplin

Posted on April 15, 2018 by John Biscello

  (Today is my grandmother May’s birthday, May-Day in my heart. Tomorrow is Sir Charlie Chaplin’s birthday, Fool’s-Play-Day in my heart. And so, in honor of these two wonderful and loving spirits) In times of hardship and heartache my grandmother … Continue reading →

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Snapshot

Posted on March 29, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) Seven years later, reflecting upon an analytical snapshot held up to the light: Thirty-three, unemployed, a boatload of debt, drinking excessively, divorcee, amateur plumber of shit-clogged pipe dreams—when I got my head stuck up my … Continue reading →

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Meeting D.J.

Posted on March 28, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) I see you decided to join me. I didn’t want you to drink alone. We sat at an empty table flanking the wall. The band was now playing a mournful ballad.  Something about two lovers … Continue reading →

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Happenstance

Posted on March 25, 2018 by John Biscello

You mean to tell me that God is Bo Peep and her sheep are not sheep at all but rather dream-spiders spinning intricate patterns and noodle-strand mandalas to freestyle a movable feast in some obscure forest known by some as … Continue reading →

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Train

Posted on March 19, 2018 by John Biscello

Heartbreak, she looks down to read what she cannot see– Escape, she breathes out.   (Artwork by Edward Hopper)

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Owl

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

Owl, owl, burning white, your gaze, peerless, and sublime, bearing braised volumes of silence within fathomless archives– Who dares to confront the suddenness of history, all at once, unblinking? Who dares to initiate the sorrow of millennia, in a single … Continue reading →

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Choose Your Own Suspense

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

Whether I had been waiting for him, or he for me, I could no longer remember. Or maybe he was a she, and I was a you, gender and pronouns being so malleable and always in flux. Whoever, or whatever … Continue reading →

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Poolside

Posted on February 27, 2018 by John Biscello

The water listened to the girl disappear and hissed. It was a warning that no one should try and follow her, every last fragment now belonged to incalculable depths. She was safe from trespass and further fracturing.     (Photo … Continue reading →

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