Monthly Archives: September 2026

Sphinx

Posted on September 21, 2026 by John Biscello

Who lost, what found? What found, who lost? The mystery conched in the mouth of the Sphinx, in a world-spinning complex of lost and found, hide and seek, a series of trespasses breaching parameters wholly invented to keep us trespassing … Continue reading →

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Vespers

Posted on September 18, 2026 by John Biscello

Blues running warm to the touch of wounds fingered and sung in scales leavened by light rising to kiss the mouth of grace unspeakably choir.

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Reverb

Posted on September 18, 2026 by John Biscello

My mother’s face was reflected in the blade of the knife, its penance and scythe, held to her throat like a vicious question. This is the beginning of fiction. Of me splitting from me and birthing other in the creation … Continue reading →

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Daybook

Posted on September 18, 2026 by John Biscello

September is autumn’s mortuary rattle and lisp, its first gasp murmurs, as if lovers kissing underwater syncing, the sacrifice of breath, to the magnetic thrall of darkening descent.

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Ritual de lo Habitual

Posted on September 17, 2026 by John Biscello

I had a decision to make. The world was ending, again. It had ended several times before. To be more accurate: many worlds had ended many times. Anyway, on one hand, there was the imminent end of the world, a … Continue reading →

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Bop

Posted on September 17, 2026 by John Biscello
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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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