Monthly Archives: September 2026

Three to Five

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

I do not want to see the face of God, I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked. These lines hail from a poem, “Claim for the Meek,” written by Bernardo Antwerp. I am specifically thinking … Continue reading →

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Board Game

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

It is inescapable. This I know, and begrudgingly accept. Yet, do I begrudgingly accept it? Or do I just say that because what alternative do I have? I can kick and scream like a five-year-old in the paroxysms of a … Continue reading →

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Tuesday

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

You send yourself letters endlessly. They are postmarked from the future, some future date, some invented date, or the dates are all over the map—future and past switch places like Tuesday and Thursday, or Sunday and Monday. That is to … Continue reading →

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Now Showing

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

In the shadow-carved cinema of memory, its mortuary and altars, the gauzy feting of ghosts, alluring you with the promise of exits and second lives. Follow our unbearably light drift, they monotone in surround-sound stereo, we will provide you the … Continue reading →

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What We Carry

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

Memories as ghosts of cinema, seeking host-bodies to inhabit, equal measures possession and vacancy, they are the ghosts of ghosts, pulsing in chords of repetition and bottomless hunger to freight.

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Searchlight

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

You are being crafted and curated right now, as you speak. Scraps of filmreel flickering and bringing to life shadows of a life lived, echoes of fiction bygone. Memory as the green-screen slate upon which cinema is perpetrated. Behind the … Continue reading →

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Foreplay

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

i liked her best wrapped in gloaming and told her so she smiled and said i needed better metaphors or lesser ones if i hoped to undress her where silence mattered most.

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Say What

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Every sentence alleges an ending, or feigns the solace of completion, yet the wholly unsaid caved under the tongues of lovers becomes sacral content, running on and on to no known climax, only hunger lingually revised.

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Room for Two or More

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Touch as the residing magnetic compass and Braille for lovers in a dark eyeless room, or, the scale value of myopic intimacy through fucks graciously given.

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Lush Life

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Conundrum to my common ache and feted fevers, place me under your tongue’s secrets for safekeeping, and the cherished prospect of going down like hard candy in a throat closing to darken the rent of rapture from lush.

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