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 johnbiscello.blogspot.com. Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.

Welcome to the Dollhouse

Ballad of the Cuckoos is offering an intimate sneak-peek into “the room” in which our protagonists find themselves trapped. This small-scale model of the “Cuckoos Nest,” was created by my daughter, Sierra-Lindsey Biscello, who has been buiding custom-made dollhouses from … Continue reading

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Fool’s Play

To marvel dumbly, and trespass, with a sense of the infinite backlighting a wink– this, the way of the Fool, or sacred is as sacred does, when trusting the air in its holy relationship to plunge.

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The Earthling Chronicles

The Martians, in their conscious longevity, stamped our passports and immigration documents long before our legacy of amnesia broke and we came to realize that everything, including our sense of planetary privilege, has been a sham, a lost man’s desperate … Continue reading

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Calling

The crow, weighing on the snow-skinned branch, caws with dark religious insistence, like a sailor homesick for love, or its remaindered sibling. There is an unremitting hoarseness to Eternity that disguises its calling in still feathers and winter’s light.

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Inspiration’s Track

Inspiration is not a matter of chance, or waiting, or a magic spell that demands bated breath and fretted suspension— it is the fact that you pick up a pen, your fingers growing warm and intimate with its weight and … Continue reading

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You Are Here

To venerate, the privilege of air inside the ceremony of lungs and chance, where you, as an honored guest, get to ripen and breathe the adventure of your name into a free-range universe.

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Awakening

Did I look down, or peer within when I saw the golden grass waving like liquid tendrils of light? At the soft, rounded edge of dream, a beckoning to fall, to endear charm to the fool’s play calling your truest … Continue reading

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Throb

It is the caste of throb in which words, palpitating, line up to serve a poem’s desirous need to know your longing as an open source.

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Shadowplay

How lovely the metaphors that drop from your lips like feted pellets of rain, and yet lovelier still, the way their shadows leave warm wet stains wherever my skin opens to catch you.

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Firsting Impression

It happens fast, this life— the first trembling chapter of an impending sneeze, the half-slitted stutter of a lid’s ambition to wink– We are, timewise, less than these things in the gaugeless cosmic scheme. And yet beyond these words, and … Continue reading

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