Tag Archives: poem

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 parenthetical 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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Cartography

Posted on September 9, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory as grayscale motive for cinematic dismemberment. Fractures and fragments insinuating a morphic whole, we puzzle together the anti-matter and immaterial aspects of our lives in secret rooms barred to the world at large. In these rooms, playing Frankenstein to … Continue reading →

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Garden

Posted on September 9, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory as night-flowers blooming jade and jasmine in fields of intuition. Old folks bend over backwards to become children again listening to the honeyed sepia fragrance wafting northward, restoring calm and grace, briefly, to lives tasted in half-tones and measureless … Continue reading →

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Room

Posted on September 9, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory as eulogies in reverse. You tell yourself a story, same as you tell yourself a memory– the supplest rites of cosplay and seance conducted, first person, in a room of one’s own naming.

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Moby

Posted on September 9, 2026 by John Biscello

Scraps, tatters, and the deluge of mindfill flickering, animating, and magnetically assembling your rumored origins into chamber cinema– you, and you alone watching the graffitied runes of a life, or many lives, curated, transcribed, and projected onto an empathic white … Continue reading →

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Cinema-Scope

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

Engraved in the shadows of cinema I found myself watching myself circled by ghosts whose bluest breath of want revived me in mercurial doses. I knew that if I kept watching I would go on. The question then became not … Continue reading →

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P.S.S.

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

Memories supply ghosts with their own ghosts haunting lives yet to come or recoccur in sundered part.

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Pool

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

My mother’s face. What about the rest of her? My mother carried within herself, like the gothic utburd, the dead child of motherless. Motherless lived inside my mother, beside her. In these motherless places dark things grew, which I would … Continue reading →

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