Tag Archives: Poetry

Horizon

Posted on December 2, 2025 by John Biscello

Longing’s end goal is itself, though it will never admit that. To admit that would strip Longing of its impetus and bait, would render it flatfooted in its futile race against time. Longing is habitually wired to attach its fevers … Continue reading →

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Premature Nostalgia

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

   Ever since I can remember, I have been afflicted by what I call premature nostalgia. A simple definition of premature nostalgia: Mourning or grieving, or experiencing acutely a deep sense of loss, a profound wistfulness, ether before something happens … Continue reading →

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Paper Route

Posted on December 1, 2025 by John Biscello

   It’s hard when you live in a paper town. You see the other kids, the real ones, playing at the linen edges, the cloth borders, and you want to interact with them but you can’t cross over. There is … Continue reading →

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Daybreak

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

We forget vividly. Absence glares and ghosts inwardly, a brutal slate of charged pixels. We find ourselves shrinking and recoiling in the hospitable siege of light—projecting, wanting, myopic as the day is long. We question ourselves. We are changed. How? … Continue reading →

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Where the Sidewalk Ends

Posted on November 30, 2025 by John Biscello

To no longer have memory is to exist in a state of vulnerable grace. It is the tenuous grace of having to function in the immediate present, the source of our greatest agitation, without referential orientation to archived past or … Continue reading →

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Girl in the Dark, Twice

Posted on November 28, 2025 by John Biscello

1.    A girl in the dark, in a corner, spitting out sunflower seeds, spitting out sunflower seeds into the dark.    Pppfft-pppfft, the sound her mouth makes when spitting, and the barely audible plip when the shells hit the … Continue reading →

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Cinema

Posted on November 24, 2025 by John Biscello

   If cinema is a tomb, then let us die watching. The angel over my shoulder is hunched, opaque, morphing.    None of us ever leave behind the darkened theater. We are here, always. Sanctuary, haven, enclave, respite, sitting tight … Continue reading →

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Titanic

Posted on November 24, 2025 by John Biscello

   If there were two, then let us say there were two. The two danced on the time-haunted deck of the Titanic, they called it the Titanic because they understood the floor beneath their feet was not to be trusted, … Continue reading →

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Net Worth

Posted on November 21, 2025 by John Biscello

   Memory slips through one’s fingers, an aggrieved net unable to hold sea or time. Everything floats by and through as intangible, ephemeral.    How to achieve fluency and accuracy of memory, of memory loss? I do not know.    … Continue reading →

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Shard

Posted on November 21, 2025 by John Biscello

In a house of mirrors, every reflection is an indirect representation of an illusion, as misperceived recognition of the source.

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