Tag Archives: untitled film still

Singe

Posted on October 5, 2020 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 a … Continue reading →

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Crossbearing

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

She, the heroine, in the still of her own life– Christ, how far to go? #15 from Untitled Film Poems Image by Cindy Sherman

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Fable

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

The woman, fronting a fable, wondered– Am I the cause, or the effect? No answer forthcoming, she considered splitting, before she turned her back on herself and left. #14 from Untitled Film Poems Image By Cindy Sherman

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Booksmart

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

Perhaps he was right, and God was a peeping Tom— Fiction turned her on. #13 from Untitled Film Poems Image by Cindy Sherman

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Baggage Claim

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

Was it fate, a fire sale, history? The longest-running soap serial was drawing to a close, if only the damned latch hadn’t been broken, if only escape plans could be executed without the claim of baggage. #12 from Untitled Film … Continue reading →

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What Dreams May Come

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

Her dreams possessed the symmetry of a sorrow undisclosed to the dreamer who borrowed her body to model alleged reality. #11 from Untitled Film Poems Image by Cindy Sherman

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Checklist

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

If someone would have told her it would be like giving birth to a checklist of domestic servitude and falsely fresh produce on a numbingly repeatable basis, she might have seriously pursued her childhood dream of running away with the … Continue reading →

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Perspective

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

From where she sat, the house seemed to be swaddled in sheer gauze, and flickering, like a light that was about to go out. She considered adjusting her view to dispel what must be an illusion, but there was something … Continue reading →

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Somewhere

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

You don’t know where the nights go, what apparitions with monstrous appetites do the swallowing. It is a mystery, soundless, unsigned. But what remained in the whorish glare of daytime were all the undigested bits, the flesh creeping with prickly … Continue reading →

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Cocktail Mixer

Posted on October 5, 2020 by John Biscello

It wasn’t her house, her nightgown, her anything. And the old woman in the sun hat snoring like a phlegmatic breeze— Who was she? Existential hangovers are the worst, she thought to herself, as she tried to piece together hazy … Continue reading →

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