Tag Archives: poem

Wordplay

Posted on September 14, 2026 by John Biscello

Here, virtually placeless, where little dreams are the broken edges of spidery raindrops engraving a highway windshield, I slide away from world, an escapee, a word waiting to happen under the tongue of someone else’s solvent pardon.

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Shackles

Posted on September 13, 2026 by John Biscello

In the waxing syntax of throb, pooling to unseemly levels, making beggars of desire’s taste for excess, we run on and on, sentenced to the gravity of a moon going down in honeyed rivet on a sea’s lush and glistening … Continue reading →

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And So It Goes

Posted on September 13, 2026 by John Biscello

At day’s glaring end, the bough breaks, the cradle falls, the songbird returns, and the dreamer watches it all, idling mutely in neutral to no end.

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Whip

Posted on September 13, 2026 by John Biscello

In bluest votive breath I found her wanting, possessed of enormous capacity to err on the side of sheerest lengths boldly lusted after.

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Sanctum

Posted on September 11, 2026 by John Biscello

In fables of solitude and memory I have grieved softly, sounding outlets through many courses and channels carved. Every escape the way back in barred. In other words don’t confuse leaving with exits. In this room, a single-sourced cell and … Continue reading →

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Burlesque

Posted on September 11, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory as defiant neverland where cryogeny is the norm and no one ever grows up only inward. We bore into ourselves, effects to the cause of a rebellious tease to be stripped.

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Cos and Effect

Posted on September 10, 2026 by John Biscello

In the gauzy rectum of Memory, perpetrating cosplay in darkened rooms, you encounter, in rounded turns, a shadowed cast of masked strangers and fools, aligned to moving distances closer, and through which rare intimacy is bred to conspire and seduce.

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Meshes of Twilight

Posted on September 10, 2026 by John Biscello

She, as in ghosts, as in white-hot incubi with a seductive glassy not there stare that bewitches and allures, bearing melancholy freighted with scraped knees, mirror shards, and broken nails caked and curlicued in dirt. Locked in liminal groove, she … Continue reading →

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Bartleby’s Plight

Posted on September 10, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory as in missives recorded later, or returned in time to a sender who is much older now, much younger, dead. It is case for the head of Bartleby, preferring not, yet continuing to show up for the sake of … Continue reading →

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Real Estate

Posted on September 9, 2026 by John Biscello

There’s something wonderfully laughable and bluntly paranthetical about the ghosts that enclose and become us as if we were squatters on vacation in fallout shelters where rent is permanently waived to make room for a speculative future of sustainable haunting.

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