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.

Jean Rhys

Posted on November 25, 2019 by John Biscello

You held the islands in your eyes, where it rained and rained and then the sun warmed wet to a wafting hiss. This Jean, you, the feline slink, filigreed shock,and sinewy comb of whitelaced waves ruffling upon puttied blobs of … Continue reading →

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Henry Miller

Posted on November 25, 2019 by John Biscello

Some men rattle their chains and wonder, some sing them. Then there are others who spraypaint their chains rainbow siege and dance a jig like a peacock on fire, and when someone asks Isn’t it hard to dance around with … Continue reading →

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Tatters

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

For many years I asked Grief to wait outside my window, a peripheral guest chancing obscure, fugitive details, and lighted tatters. Have I been a poor host, stranger to my own ghost and remnants?

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Something Blissful This Way Comes

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

No need for the past, living mythology, you, here and now, begin.

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Census

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

Your soul’s country is much bigger than you think. Find every last you there.

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Pathfinder

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

Traveling mapless backroads, I found heaven looking for me.

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Lovesong for Self

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

  It became a goal, soul-mate to my own damned self— Nerves on the first date.

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Coil

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

To caper at the edge, where the seething lyric happens, poetry with slits and fast teeth, where the hours of phenomena are boiled and reduced to a single quivering instant, an umbilical knot of light upon tenderest scraps and coils.

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After Party

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

She, Lazarus, back from the dead, with a musical vengeance— A beat, Christ, please, she asks of her martyred D.J., half-light, half-man, and out climbs her voice, grinding through rubble, a dark velvet toy wound up for centuries, released, on … Continue reading →

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Immigration Laws

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

We are immigrants in our own skin, flash-fire refugees who get by with falsified papers, fake IDs, and forged signatures. If caught and found guilty of a trespass or transgression, we pardon ourselves in our native tongues, language a placeholder … Continue reading →

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