Tag Archives: poem

Doorframe

Posted on July 4, 2019 by John Biscello

The course couldn’t be changed, same as the sounds coming from the other side of the door, which belonged to her broken-in replacement. She waited for something to stop, or perhaps to knock and show that the next move was … Continue reading →

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Undergrowth

Posted on July 3, 2019 by John Biscello

There had been rumors, hints, warnings, about the nature of certain fairy tales that fucked you in the end— The trees bent to listen, or rather to feel the story of her grief soaking into the earth and slaking the … Continue reading →

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Smolder

Posted on July 3, 2019 by John Biscello

In a sense, you could call it a stay of execution, but that would be waxing operatic just to make the whole thing worth remembering. Still, he had groveled before your feet, while clutching at your shadow’s hem, begging for … Continue reading →

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Movement from an Unfinished Solo

Posted on July 3, 2019 by John Biscello

It was an option, one that promised an ending— The steps seemed endless.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)    

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Some Like It Hot

Posted on July 2, 2019 by John Biscello

Some women waited for men to light their cigarettes for them but never her— she, the one who netted her own desire, and blatantly committed a most lovely heresy by balancing a small kernel of the moon on her fingertips … Continue reading →

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Framework

Posted on July 2, 2019 by John Biscello

A well-ordered day, relative to the framing, which living betrayed.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Any Given Moment

Posted on July 2, 2019 by John Biscello

She paused, to reflect upon how, in this house, there would never be a shortage of glasses, they’d never run out. Forever, the company of herself, absolished in the throes of forgetting.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Set Design

Posted on July 1, 2019 by John Biscello

All the maidens had gone extinct. The debutantes too. She found herself in this place, alone, a Bardo stage set for a film that would never be made about women who scorched revolution into the earth while kneading forgiveness, for … Continue reading →

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Pillow Talk

Posted on July 1, 2019 by John Biscello

Rumpled, with a sense of grave toil, and casual slips of crucial error– Was this what love meant, or did? Could that be all? The woman settled into the shape of her day, and pined for something remote and unspecified, … Continue reading →

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Childhood’s Haunt

Posted on July 1, 2019 by John Biscello

As if in a dream, or mottled gloam, she found herself bailing on the small needy child with grotesquely long tapered fingers, she found herself leaving home to an unmarked plot and its numberless ghosts.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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