Tag Archives: poem

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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V

Posted on September 15, 2026 by John Biscello

Wordless, stripped bare, trembling is enough to ask.

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Pines

Posted on September 15, 2026 by John Biscello

In the beginning was the Word. And the Word grinned like a lascivious jackal, like a cruel scythe, and we were seduced. A votive placed in our niche spreading small light as Word-symbol flashed before our illuminated eyes: the darkened … Continue reading →

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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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