John Biscello

2018-07-05 19.17.09

A spectral, widespreading
cape of lavender
misting the seascape,
and in the distance, a house,
fronted by palms
looking like shadowy pom-poms,
its windows lighted eyes
blazing swaths of yellow
to imbibe the encroaching
nocturne.

John Biscello

Tracks

Life’s fast tracking shots,
no impressions are lasting–
Gull’s far-off screeching.

Seer

Borges, the blind seer,
man of many labyrinths,
at dawn’s edge, a flare.

Cradle

Every cradle
begs of its dark a stairway
to star grief and love.

Juliet in Purple

In the purple gloam,
stone terrace mourns the loss of
Juliet’s nightcalls.

Disco

Plum fresco at dusk.
Shaghaired totems chill and wait.
There will be dancing.

Gash

Nostalgia, backlit
by a warm, gashing flare,
scoring Time’s passage.

Alchemy

Lone gull, stops, listens,
the gospel of alchemy–
water turned to gold.

No Moral

Beach noir meets fable,
Dashiell Hammett and Aesop
filtered through lone gull.

Cape

A spectral, widespreading
cape of lavender
misting the seascape,
and in the distance, a house,
fronted by palms
looking like shadowy pom-poms,
its windows lighted eyes
blazing swaths of yellow
to imbibe the encroaching
nocturne.

Nuptial

Splitting image, one
sun mounts another, cradled
in nuptial fire.

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Life’s fast tracking shots, no impressions are lasting– Gull’s far-off screeching.

Borges, the blind seer, man of many labyrinths, at dawn’s edge, a flare.

Every cradle begs of its dark a stairway to star grief and love.

In the purple gloam, stone terrace mourns the loss of Juliet’s nightcalls.

Plum fresco at dusk. Shaghaired totems chill and wait. There will be dancing.

Nostalgia, backlit by a warm, gashing flare, scoring Time’s passage.

Lone gull, stops, listens, the gospel of alchemy– water turned to gold.

Beach noir meets fable, Dashiell Hammett and Aesop filtered through lone gull.

A spectral, widespreading cape of lavender misting the seascape, and in the distance, a house, fronted by palms looking like shadowy pom-poms, its windows lighted eyes blazing swaths of yellow to imbibe the encroaching nocturne.

Splitting image, one sun mounts another, cradled in nuptial fire.

Archives

Meta

Categories

Life’s fast tracking shots,
no impressions are lasting–
Gull’s far-off screeching.

Borges, the blind seer,
man of many labyrinths,
at dawn’s edge, a flare.

Every cradle
begs of its dark a stairway
to star grief and love.

In the purple gloam,
stone terrace mourns the loss of
Juliet’s nightcalls.

Plum fresco at dusk.
Shaghaired totems chill and wait.
There will be dancing.

Nostalgia, backlit
by a warm, gashing flare,
scoring Time’s passage.

Lone gull, stops, listens,
the gospel of alchemy–
water turned to gold.

Beach noir meets fable,
Dashiell Hammett and Aesop
filtered through lone gull.

A spectral, widespreading
cape of lavender
misting the seascape,
and in the distance, a house,
fronted by palms
looking like shadowy pom-poms,
its windows lighted eyes
blazing swaths of yellow
to imbibe the encroaching
nocturne.

Splitting image, one
sun mounts another, cradled
in nuptial fire.