Tag Archives: autumn

Seasons of the Mask

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

The mask lifted. Autumn lisped. Lost, and lisping about a mausoleum of hours, days. It was a dry Marienbaddish summer. Which gave way to fall. You have to imagine it giving way: Summer, holding up its illustrious red velvet cape, … Continue reading →

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Autumn in F-Sharp

Posted on September 24, 2026 by John Biscello

In her long distance gaze, unblinkingly chaste and running, the bayonet plunges between a rock and hard place, and I, gasping, to air on the side of trespass and empathic fall.

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Daybook

Posted on September 18, 2026 by John Biscello

September is autumn’s mortuary rattle and lisp, its first gasp murmurs, as if lovers kissing underwater syncing, the sacrifice of breath, to the magnetic thrall of darkening descent.

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Saudade

Posted on September 16, 2026 by John Biscello

Solitude waxing blankly the sepia ebb of lost hours– Autumn recalls the moon in perigee and scandal, a ballad stripped bare to elegy’s standards.

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Leave-Taking

Posted on September 16, 2026 by John Biscello

Autumn, the lisping outlet and merciful turn toward the company of words– Mass in the lightness of hours.

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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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Cabin Fever

Posted on March 16, 2026 by John Biscello

“I follow them, winding my way up and down several snow dunes, not unlike clouds that have fallen to earth and frozen. The footprints are guiding me toward a cabin. It is a yellow cabin, the yellow of autumn and … Continue reading →

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Seasons

Posted on October 5, 2023 by John Biscello

From the series, Japan Poems Street festival, June, summer kimonos in bloom– Autumn waits its turn.

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Fall

Posted on October 24, 2022 by John Biscello

In autumn’s brisk grief, leaves flashing briefest raptures to seed elegies.

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Autumn Colored Souls

Posted on May 22, 2022 by John Biscello

Does Bevel know that the color of Lucy’s soul is autumn? As Lucy danced, I could see her branches sprouting in different directions, while yellow leaves flew everywhere, like star-pointed birds. You want to kiss me really, really bad, don’t … Continue reading →

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