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Meta
Tag Archives: Poetry
Cask
In the clotted rectum of Memory, a roving cadre of masked strangers, who, in their Bacchanalian cosplay and pursuits, cause you to reconsider the darkening press of Time, and intimacy, within the hoary cask of solitude.
Storyline
Sorrow-engraved fables read in moving plots of psychic Braille by wanderlusting youth, mapless and intuitively akashic in their fluent grasping of worlds within to be palmed in stigmatic thrall.
Postmark
Memory, as in missives recorded and labeled later, then played in reverse, or returned in due time to a sender who is much younger now, or dead, echoes circling to no end in your solitary call for company kept.
Wraith
Memory as spectral residue and gauzy motes slow-drifting as evidence and proof of Time’s passage moving from nowhere to nowhere and in the process swallowing lives whole.
Travelogue
In the gauzy rectum of Memory, perpetrating cosplay in darkened rooms, you encounter, in rounded turns and cursive, a shadowed cast of masked strangers and fools, aligned to moving distances, through which rarest intimacy is bred to conspire and seduce.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged cosplay, dark, fool's play, memory, mystery, Poetry, seduction
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World of Blue
It was autumn, or late summer. She existed more than half her waking life in the coat-room she called home. At this palace of a department store—she, the coat-check girl, I, the elevator guy. It was a long time ago. … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged autumn, Blue, loneliness, passion, Poetry, Prose, story, technicolor
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In Our Solitude
In the birthing solitude of invention, memories night-bloom as cosplay and eulogy in the flickering séance of cinema, keeping strange limitless company to a rounded minimum.
Equatorial
Find me, she urged, in a bird-broken sky, in mottled swills of ink darkening my want— Find me, wherever I am not, the explicit spreading of distance to tease and captivate Memory’s cosplay in a subtextual plot.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Desire, geolocation, mystery, plot, poem, Poetry, subtext, travel
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Archive
Memory, eulogies birthed in reverse, séance syncing soundly the cinema of ghosts with real-time revivals rounding to fade.
Now Playing
In the bluest breath of want we are ghosts haunting our own lives possessed by the mutable shadows of cinema.
John Biscello 