Category Archives: Poetry

Speakeasy

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

They the fable-soaked and sorrowful children of the moon engender shadows if only to bootleg the mercury of departure to trespass lightly.

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In Our Solitude

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

In the birthing solitude of invention, memories night-bloom as cosplay and eulogy in the flickering séance of cinema, keeping strange limitless company to a rounded minimum.

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Equatorial

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

Find me, she urged, in a bird-broken sky, in mottled swills of ink darkening my want— Find me, wherever I am not, the explicit spreading of distance to tease and captivate Memory’s cosplay in a subtextual plot.

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Archive

Posted on May 19, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory, eulogies birthed in reverse, séance syncing soundly the cinema of ghosts with real-time revivals rounding to fade.

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Now Playing

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the bluest breath of want we are ghosts haunting our own lives possessed by the mutable shadows of cinema.

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Freight Blues

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the bluest breath of want, pooling to unseemly levels, making beggars of desire’s taste for excess, we run on and on, riveted to freight and laboring conundrum.

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Flicker

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the longaching cinema of memory, the gauzy calling and want of ghosts, exponentially the veiled sum of fading and pulse.

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As if Ghosts

Posted on May 16, 2026 by John Biscello

She, as in ghosts, as in white-hot incubi with a seductive glassy not there stare, it bewitches and allures, bears melancholy freighted with scraped knees and mirror shards. There is a lucid unblinking poise, calculated reserve composed of crystal and … Continue reading →

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Haunt

Posted on May 16, 2026 by John Biscello

She, as in ghosts, the seductive glassy not-there stare making you long for what has passed, or is passing— Séance, persuasive in its call and touch, a cheat code flirting with disaster, or remnants haunting thereafter.

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Loom

Posted on May 15, 2026 by John Biscello

In the manic solitude of invention and bloom, I shutter to think, therefore I scam, hustling room for one’s own company to keep you, casting, in fuckable thrall.

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