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.

Outsourcing

The woman, smiling, gave her man one more reason to feel endangered.

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Icarus by Any Other Name

Embers of a flight, it wasn’t rocket science– Maybe next time, kid.   (Artwork by Matisse)

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Dinner Date from Hell

They take, and they don’t take lightly– Vicious cycles sometimes have faces with barren eyes and aphid bellies full of insatiable desire– Consider the state of your soul’s diet, and exorcise regularly.

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Gray Matter

While waiting for the bus that stopped running many years ago the empty bench dreamed of a world where people still had time to sit and drift along in reveries that led nowhere slowly.

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Patterning

Strains of lunacy, befalling poets and clowns– Homesick for the moon.   (Artwork by Cezanne)

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The Wash

It is not her grief but ours, seeking pure outlet beyond mortal scars.

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Georgia

It was exact, and inflamed, her relationship to the line, to the geometry of tension and its stringent brood– Craft demands the utmost attention, which she paid, by subjecting the veins of petals and moon-eaten skulls to the edges of … Continue reading →

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Strip

In a whitehot flash, the map of one’s life exposed– Many roles, then fade.

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What Don’t You See?

No prism. No idealogy. No agenda. Simply– Hell hath no fury like a woman scorched and swallowed by desert, bones set to reform and return as a wind-knit skeleton dancing upon the gouged names of its freighted oppressors.   (Artwork … Continue reading →

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Foot to Mouth

It’s less a fetish and more of a — I’m sorry, what was I saying?

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