Monthly Archives: September 2026

9/17/26

Posted on September 17, 2026 by John Biscello

As I sit here at my desk waiting for the world to end (again)—the collective hunch and shrug of mass many keeping future tense at peak volume—I think I will write. That seems as good and fine of a thing … Continue reading →

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Reap

Posted on September 16, 2026 by John Biscello

In the shadows of words, fulfilling the scythe and progeny of endearment, voices stalk air in hot sincere pursuit of grace’s voluminous unsayable.

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Saudade

Posted on September 16, 2026 by John Biscello

Solitude waxing blankly the sepia ebb of lost hours– Autumn recalls the moon in perigee and scandal, a ballad stripped bare to elegy’s standards.

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Leave-Taking

Posted on September 16, 2026 by John Biscello

Autumn, the lisping outlet and merciful turn toward the company of words– Mass in the lightness of hours.

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V

Posted on September 15, 2026 by John Biscello

Wordless, stripped bare, trembling is enough to ask.

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Pines

Posted on September 15, 2026 by John Biscello

In the beginning was the Word. And the Word grinned like a lascivious jackal, like a cruel scythe, and we were seduced. A votive placed in our niche spreading small light as Word-symbol flashed before our illuminated eyes: the darkened … Continue reading →

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Wordplay

Posted on September 14, 2026 by John Biscello

Here, virtually placeless, where little dreams are the broken edges of spidery raindrops engraving a highway windshield, I slide away from world, an escapee, a word waiting to happen under the tongue of someone else’s solvent pardon.

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Shackles

Posted on September 13, 2026 by John Biscello

In the waxing syntax of throb, pooling to unseemly levels, making beggars of desire’s taste for excess, we run on and on, sentenced to the gravity of a moon going down in honeyed rivet on a sea’s lush and glistening … Continue reading →

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And So It Goes

Posted on September 13, 2026 by John Biscello

At day’s glaring end, the bough breaks, the cradle falls, the songbird returns, and the dreamer watches it all, idling mutely in neutral to no end.

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Whip

Posted on September 13, 2026 by John Biscello

In bluest votive breath I found her wanting, possessed of enormous capacity to err on the side of sheerest lengths boldly lusted after.

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