Tag Archives: John Biscello

Gauge

The sun, like a brandied dream, slips away beneath the world’s ending, or beginning, same difference, by the sea’s ancient gauge and meter.

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Tracks

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

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Seer

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

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Cradle

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

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Juliet in Purple

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

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Disco

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

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Gash

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

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Alchemy

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

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No Moral

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

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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.

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