Category Archives: Poetry

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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Distribution

Posted on May 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Engraved in the paranthetical shadows of intensely subjective cinema, I cited myself, watching myself, submerged in a pooling coven of ghosts whose bluest breath of want revived me in fleeting doses. I knew that if I kept watching I would … Continue reading →

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Wraith

Posted on May 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory as spectral residue and gauzy motes slow-drifting as evidence and proof of Time’s passage moving from nowhere to nowhere and in the process swallowing lives whole.

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Travelogue

Posted on May 21, 2026 by John Biscello

In the gauzy rectum of Memory, perpetrating cosplay in darkened rooms, you encounter, in rounded turns and cursive, a shadowed cast of masked strangers and fools, aligned to moving distances, through which rarest intimacy is bred to conspire and seduce.

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World of Blue

Posted on May 21, 2026 by John Biscello

It was autumn, or late summer. She existed more than half her waking life in the coat-room she called home. At this palace of a department store—she, the coat-check girl, I, the elevator guy. It was a long time ago. … Continue reading →

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In a World of Blue

Posted on May 21, 2026 by John Biscello

It was autumn, or late summer. We met in the coat-room she called home for half her waking life. She, the coat-check girl, I, the elevator guy. We didn’t see ourselves as past-due or endangered then, but now, upon reflection… … Continue reading →

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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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