Residual

Posted on May 27, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory

aligning spectral residue

and gauzy embers,

slow-drifting motes

and emissaries of Time’s passage,

moving from nowhere

to nowhere,

and swallowing whole worlds

in the process.

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Archival

Posted on May 27, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory

as night-blooming

arias,

diffuse

and fasting

on distances

proliferating inwardly

to sepia

and mute.

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Pangs

Posted on May 26, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory

as night-blooming

carrion—

its resolve

and intrigue

leavening the supply

of demand

to feed.

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Polyphony

Posted on May 26, 2026 by John Biscello

In

the Shiva-limbed

solitude of invention

rabbitual copulation

begets

the wildfire spreading

of hymns

lusting for voices

to subsume and consecrate.

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After

Posted on May 26, 2026 by John Biscello

Bodiless,

adrift,

blankly navigating

the séance of cinema

where you, minus a role,

are reassigned

as a nimbus scab

on the patina of Time

                        no more I

                        of which to speak

                        or pirate.

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Little Light of Ours

Posted on May 26, 2026 by John Biscello

In pools

of practiced moving distances

words labor by light’s

traveling standards

to take flight

and submerge

in due riveted course.

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Cask

Posted on May 25, 2026 by John Biscello

In the clotted rectum

of Memory,

a roving cadre of masked strangers,

who, in their Bacchanalian cosplay

and pursuits, cause you to reconsider

the darkening press of Time, and intimacy,

within the hoary cask of solitude.

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Pulse

Posted on May 25, 2026 by John Biscello

Behind the ghosts,

further ghosts.

Lives carry on,

infinitely layered

and bottomless.

There is no stopping

or stopped.

Home,

placeless in its capacity

to hold space

wherever one goes,

between pauses,

to become.

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Storyline

Posted on May 25, 2026 by John Biscello

Sorrow-engraved fables

read in moving plots

of psychic Braille

by wanderlusting youth,

mapless and intuitively

akashic in their fluent grasping

of worlds within

                           to be palmed in stigmatic thrall.

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Postmark

Posted on May 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory,

as in missives recorded and labeled

later, then played in reverse,

or returned in due time

to a sender who is much younger now,

or dead,

echoes circling to no end

in your solitary call

for company kept.

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