Category Archives: Poetry

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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Frame

Posted on May 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Sepia scraps of filmreel burnt around the edges flickering to animate and revive the magnetic shavings of a life soundly projected. The genetics of cinema are always hard at work in the nimble and forgiving dark.

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