Author Archives: John Biscello

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About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, novelist, poet, performer, playwright and filmmaker, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of six novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, No Man’s Brooklyn, The Last Furies, and No One Dreams in Color; a collection of stories, Freeze Tag, two poetry collections, Arclight and Moonglow on Mercy Street; and a fable, The Jackdaw and the Doll, illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama. He also adapted classic fables, which were paired with the vintage illustrations of artist, Paul Bransom, for the collection: Once Upon a Time, Classic Fables Reimagined. His plays have been staged and performed both nationally and internationally.

Bardo Noir

Posted on September 22, 2026 by John Biscello

Out/here in/here cradling the air. Hugging its hot pissy whatever. Something to hold onto something to grasp. This is maintenance at its most base level. If I let go I will be scooped up again/a helpless dollop in timespanning batter. … Continue reading →

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Rabbits

Posted on September 22, 2026 by John Biscello

A fleeting pattern compounded by space-time into a deniable entity. Why a deniable entity? Are some entities inadmissible? What qualifies them as inadmissible? Are they deniable because, at the core, there is nothing definite about them, nothing set in stone? … Continue reading →

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False Alarm

Posted on September 21, 2026 by John Biscello

the author in me died a lonely long time ago death (too singular to adapt and stay alive in this new-moving world of word-species and endangered text) the author lying through his teeth to pardon me revived every time the … Continue reading →

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Waltz

Posted on September 21, 2026 by John Biscello

In the latent vernacular and trespass of mind-breaths spanning space-time, crystallized as rapt intimacies and wax seal giving the dreaming-voice its human due and proof of residence, we scratch in lost measure– I Wuz Here– followed by the fading tracks … Continue reading →

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Forest

Posted on September 21, 2026 by John Biscello

Everyone possesses a dark forest. It is, whether geographically or metaphysically, where you are terrified to wander at night, alone. It is the weathervane and divining rod of primal fear. There is an ancient nameless fear that makes your existence … Continue reading →

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Less Traveled

Posted on September 21, 2026 by John Biscello

I am here while I went there. I am near yet faraway. Both things can be true. Let’s say physically you walked to a place, a tangible and specific location, while mentally, psychically, existentially, you went elsewhere: you traveled to … Continue reading →

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Sphinx

Posted on September 21, 2026 by John Biscello

Who lost, what found? What found, who lost? The mystery conched in the mouth of the Sphinx, in a world-spinning complex of lost and found, hide and seek, a series of trespasses breaching parameters wholly invented to keep us trespassing … Continue reading →

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Vespers

Posted on September 18, 2026 by John Biscello

Blues running warm to the touch of wounds fingered and sung in scales leavened by light rising to kiss the mouth of grace unspeakably choir.

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Reverb

Posted on September 18, 2026 by John Biscello

My mother’s face was reflected in the blade of the knife, its penance and scythe, held to her throat like a vicious question. This is the beginning of fiction. Of me splitting from me and birthing other in the creation … Continue reading →

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Daybook

Posted on September 18, 2026 by John Biscello

September is autumn’s mortuary rattle and lisp, its first gasp murmurs, as if lovers kissing underwater syncing, the sacrifice of breath, to the magnetic thrall of darkening descent.

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