Tag Archives: words

Meshes of Twilight

Posted on September 10, 2026 by John Biscello

She, as in ghosts, as in white-hot incubi with a seductive glassy not there stare that bewitches and allures, bearing melancholy freighted with scraped knees, mirror shards, and broken nails caked and curlicued in dirt. Locked in liminal groove, she … Continue reading →

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Three to Five

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

I do not want to see the face of God, I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked. These lines hail from a poem, “Claim for the Meek,” written by Bernardo Antwerp. I am specifically thinking … Continue reading →

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Board Game

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

It is inescapable. This I know, and begrudgingly accept. Yet, do I begrudgingly accept it? Or do I just say that because what alternative do I have? I can kick and scream like a five-year-old in the paroxysms of a … 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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Scraps

Posted on September 3, 2026 by John Biscello

Memories keep us in a state of cinematic dismemberment. Spliced ribbons of footage everywhere. Identity diced and chopped. Fractures and fragments become us in motivating assembly. We are always puzzling together aspects of our lives in dimly lit corridors, in … Continue reading →

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Little Light of Ours

Posted on May 26, 2026 by John Biscello

In pools of practiced moving distances words labor by light’s traveling standards to take flight and submerge in due riveted course.

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Loom

Posted on May 15, 2026 by John Biscello

In the manic solitude of invention and bloom, I shutter to think, therefore I scam, hustling room for one’s own company to keep you, casting, in fuckable thrall.

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Rivet

Posted on May 14, 2026 by John Biscello

Here, papering over hovel origins of wounds and silence with words riveting on and on and on, dirty frayed bandages panting staccato and weary in the wind, yet never losing voice, nor the canopied capacity for mime in the manic … Continue reading →

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Scroll

Posted on May 13, 2026 by John Biscello

Clouds, fleecy in glaring mass– softly, softly, the words avail themselves to silence in passing.

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Eyes

Posted on May 13, 2026 by John Biscello

I could not stare into anyone’s eyes too long. It was like staring openly at the sun. The light was too much to bear. Not to mention, within the stunning field of light projected from eyes were congealed specks and … Continue reading →

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