Tag Archives: poem

Now Showing

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

In the shadow-carved cinema of memory, its mortuary and altars, the gauzy feting of ghosts, alluring you with the promise of exits and second lives. Follow our unbearably light drift, they monotone in surround-sound stereo, we will provide you the … Continue reading →

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What We Carry

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

Memories as ghosts of cinema, seeking host-bodies to inhabit, equal measures possession and vacancy, they are the ghosts of ghosts, pulsing in chords of repetition and bottomless hunger to freight.

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Searchlight

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

You are being crafted and curated right now, as you speak. Scraps of filmreel flickering and bringing to life shadows of a life lived, echoes of fiction bygone. Memory as the green-screen slate upon which cinema is perpetrated. Behind the … Continue reading →

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Foreplay

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

i liked her best wrapped in gloaming and told her so she smiled and said i needed better metaphors or lesser ones if i hoped to undress her where silence mattered most.

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Say What

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Every sentence alleges an ending, or feigns the solace of completion, yet the wholly unsaid caved under the tongues of lovers becomes sacral content, running on and on to no known climax, only hunger lingually revised.

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Room for Two or More

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Touch as the residing magnetic compass and Braille for lovers in a dark eyeless room, or, the scale value of myopic intimacy through fucks graciously given.

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Lush Life

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Conundrum to my common ache and feted fevers, place me under your tongue’s secrets for safekeeping, and the cherished prospect of going down like hard candy in a throat closing to darken the rent of rapture from lush.

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Domain

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Her body, a puzzling slate and feral dominion suspended erringly between there and not, and I, tonal witness to the intimacy of her absence, function by rounded turns at a loss for words– Silence, the lasting grammar of ruins and … Continue reading →

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Mystique

Posted on September 6, 2026 by John Biscello

There’s something blankly paranthetical about the ghosts of memory which become us in breaths taken to host and devour.

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Story

Posted on May 27, 2026 by John Biscello

Within the alchemy of gist and wonder resides the evergreening lush dark center of stories through which the self rivets its fluid course.

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