John Biscello

Out here,

things were different.

The rough patches felt,

if not smoother,

then at least manageable.

This was also a place

where she could check

her dreams at the door,

and not pay them

the kind of mind

that always left her gasping for air

where little to none was available.

#61 from Untitled Film Poems

Image by John Biscello

All it would take

is a single match,

and everything inside her

that had dried into tinder.

Funny,

that it would be

the house and not her

engulfed in flames,

but the heat would blister

and violently press needles into her skin,

so she could feel the weight of collapse,

and know that, despite the lack

of physical evidence, a significant part

of who she was

would find burial, if not peace,

in siege and ash.

#60 from Untitled Film Poems

Image by Cindy Sherman