Monthly Archives: January 2018

Cubist Pin-Up

Posted on January 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Psychically dismembered since birth, Grace walked her palms to her feet, and prayed that everything lost, in between, would return ritually transfigured.

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Arc

Posted on January 28, 2018 by John Biscello

A siren’s coin of slivered light beading the tunnel’s darkened maw; a long night’s journey into day fulfills the promise of a fabled arc.    

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Comeback

Posted on January 28, 2018 by John Biscello

Everything we attempt and seal creatively, every last and first word completed, reigns as beautiful failure, a mortal short-hand and forger’s touching testament to the Source, rounding what dreams may come and fade and come again.      

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Born in Translation

Posted on January 26, 2018 by John Biscello

I sometimes think of writing as the vocational practice of learning to translate, with accuracy of spirit, the parts of me, unrecognized, unseen, unsigned, that echo from an intimately faraway hollow of interior space.  

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Song for the Meek

Posted on January 26, 2018 by John Biscello

It has finally come, bearing a fount of bruised petals, blood-pink and white and reigning silvered silence, the year the meek inherit the earth, the plight of sensuous souls flown within to claim tenderest grace on loan from God’s rimless … Continue reading →

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Woolf’s Bane

Posted on January 25, 2018 by John Biscello

In honor of Virginia Woolf’s birthday.  Through a glass, darkly, splitting of selves by prism– Wide berth for one’s I.    

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Nocturne Rising

Posted on January 23, 2018 by John Biscello

I am excited to announce that my new novel, Nocturne Variations, has been accepted for publication by Unsolicited Press. In addition, they plan to republish my first two novels–Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale and Raking the Dust–which will allow all … Continue reading →

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Grandfather

Posted on January 21, 2018 by John Biscello

   The only time I had ever seen my grandfather cry was also the first time I had ever seen an adult blatantly lose touch with reality. His first wife, my grandmother, Angelina, had died when I was five. She … Continue reading →

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Holden on the Rocks

Posted on January 21, 2018 by John Biscello

   After the first bar, my father and I slide over to another bar, a non-island-themed one where a DJ is spinning party-pop music. At this point my father is slumped over on his barstool. When the bartender asks him … Continue reading →

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Relapse

Posted on January 21, 2018 by John Biscello

   We head to a different bar, with an island theme. A bartender with a yellow lay collaring his neck says aloha and asks us what we’re drinking. My father says Johnnie Walker Black double. When my father asks me … Continue reading →

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