Tag Archives: poem

Here Today…

Posted on February 28, 2024 by John Biscello

People who vanish, where exactly do they go? Thin air holds secrets.

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Transit

Posted on February 28, 2024 by John Biscello

No words to describe this passing sense, here now gone— Dreaming in real-time.  

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Portrait

Posted on February 28, 2024 by John Biscello

In the hospitable equation of a bicycle, lighted doors and people we cannot see, a hypnogogic nocturne forms of its own accord, begetting incalculable solitude and lore to the trespasses of dreaming.

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Penumbra

Posted on February 28, 2024 by John Biscello

We practice intimacy in scales, from a near warmed distance— a concentrated swath of light, calling us forth, entreats our internal orphan to find fugitive solace in the softly respiring aura of solitude.

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Night Beat

Posted on February 28, 2024 by John Biscello

It is in these moments when the pumpkin orange glow of the lanterns softens the streets and the bicycles lined up in rows compose portraits of ordered symmetry, that the night turns in on itself, and with it goes I, … Continue reading →

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The Bride

Posted on February 20, 2024 by John Biscello

It is always exciting to provide an update when a project is nearing completion. We are putting the finishing post-production touches on our short film, THE BRIDE, and look forward to the next phase of birthing it into the world … Continue reading →

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Love and Death

Posted on February 8, 2024 by John Biscello

The branch of the tree reaching down. It reaches down to graze the time-scarred headstone, to caress it. Could this be … a secret love story, a love story with no history, or with a cortege of history, spanning many … Continue reading →

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Visitation Rites

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

Metaphors underscore every moment of passage. For example, we, being guests upon this earth but briefly, solidly imagined as entities before dissolving into blurs, en route to fading, among the gusty corteges of transit.

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Rabbit Season

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

The love hotel under the overcast afternoon sky. Thick mottled clouds. Two rabbits perched on a crescent moon, backs turned to the viewer. Earth and sky mixed, how lust has room for all seasons. The love hotel is about 100 … Continue reading →

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Passage

Posted on February 7, 2024 by John Biscello

Empty streets beckon to breed favored solitude among vagrant dreams.

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