Any Given Moment

Posted on July 2, 2019 by John Biscello
cindy #49
She paused, to reflect
upon how, in this house,
there would never be a shortage of glasses,
they’d never run out.
Forever, the company
of herself, absolished in the throes
of forgetting.

 

(Photo by Cindy Sherman)
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Set Design

Posted on July 1, 2019 by John Biscello
cindy #43
All the maidens
had gone extinct.
The debutantes too.
She found herself
in this place, alone,
a Bardo stage set
for a film
that would never be made
about women
who scorched revolution
into the earth
while kneading forgiveness,
for themselves, and the men,
who skirted the borders
of psychic endangerment.

 

(Photo by Cindy Sherman)

 

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Pillow Talk

Posted on July 1, 2019 by John Biscello
Cindy #52
Rumpled, with a sense of grave toil,
and casual slips of crucial error–
Was this what love meant,
or did? Could that be all?
The woman settled
into the shape of her day,
and pined for something remote
and unspecified,
a feeling, a place, anything
to keep her unmade and hoping.

 

(Photo by Cindy Sherman)
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Childhood’s Haunt

Posted on July 1, 2019 by John Biscello

cindy #38

As if in a dream,
or mottled gloam,
she found herself bailing
on the small needy child
with grotesquely long
tapered fingers,
she found herself leaving home
to an unmarked plot
and its numberless ghosts.

 

(Photo by Cindy Sherman)
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Still Life w/ Cuckoos

Posted on June 30, 2019 by John Biscello
Meet Marilyn and James.
Film stills from Ballad of the Cuckoos.
Indiegogo campaign launching soon.
Stay tuned.

 

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Slow Burn

Posted on June 30, 2019 by John Biscello
Cindy #67
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.

 

(Photo by Cindy Sherman)
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Same As It Ever Was

Posted on June 30, 2019 by John Biscello

cindy #7

It wasn’t her house,
her nightgown, her anything.
And the old woman
in the sun hat
snoring like a phlegmatic breeze—
Who was she?
Existential hangovers
are the worst,
she thought to herself,
as she tried to piece together
hazy fragments
that she hoped would clarify
and amount to a life
resembling her own.

 

(Photo by Cindy Sherman)
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One Way or Another

Posted on June 30, 2019 by John Biscello
2019-06-07 22.45.31
Amorphic,
within a repertory
of hints,
she claimed his intrigue
through a slow pooling
of variations
on an undisclosed theme.
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Ephemera

Posted on June 30, 2019 by John Biscello
2019-06-07 22.46.05
We are bodies
intercepting light,
to impress upon
this glaring slate
of a world
the riveting trespass
of an outline,
soluble in its rapt bidding
for love
and loss.

 

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Shadow Theater

Posted on June 30, 2019 by John Biscello

2019-06-07 22.45.52

A veil,
comprised of symmetry
and tone,
to tease
the liminal cover-up
of our nothingness,
revealed as kin
to poem.

 

 

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