Author Archives: John Biscello

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.


Moonlight is edible. If you don’t believe me watch the mouths of children at night.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

There is No Curtain

Forever and ever is the asking price and promise the singer made to the song conjugal atomic bliss siring the I that right now is speaking singularly on behalf of the song and singer forever and ever.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Born Blues

I am the foster child of rampant insular lyricism. In it I was raised wild and came meekly to regard the moon as a shotgun blast from the mouth of eternity. I, setting core to task, get greedy, rabid, blood … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

If This

Our destinies are molecular, charged. We gravitate. Toward this and that. Other things. The bond between song and singer is immaculate proof of serviceably attuned you blameless as the blue lighting of the first moment when the multiverse sought seams … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Tender is the Night

Posted in photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Round Trip

There is a slow lasting burn on the road to heaven which admits meekness as a course of rightful inheritance, as a ringed torch song for reentry into the self dispossessed.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Man Walks Into

   A man walks into a man. He realizes it’s the same man … they’re … the same man. They merge. Naturally. Inviolably. A man walks into a man and a merger occurs.    Who was I before I walked … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Baffling the Sphinx

The word is my fourth dimension–Clarice Lispector And on the eighth and endless day, where the bottomless hallelujah meets Ouroboros, God created Clarice Lispector. Maybe. Maybe the music of that name was more pure music and vivid living syntax, and … Continue reading

Posted in Books, Poetry, Press, Prose, Publications | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dust in the Wind

Much here is caked in dust. Dust-skinned dogs and dust-skinned horses. Dust-coated houses in ruin, the staccato of ruins, the oldlife song of decay, dreams move sluggishly here at the pace of dust, the swirling eddies of dust, dust in … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Affair to Remember

Sea, I never want to marry you. I want us to have a never-ending fling, a love affair flooded with longing and desire … I want to miss you … want to remain missably yours … want to miss you … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment