Author Archives: John Biscello

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About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, performer, and playwright, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of four novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, and No Man’s Brooklyn; 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 produced, full-length plays include: LOBSTERS ON ICE, ADAGIO FOR STRAYS, THE BEST MEDICINE, ZEITGEIST, U.S.A., and WEREWOLVES DON’T WALTZ.

I Believe in Miracles

Posted on July 26, 2018 by John Biscello

I am learning, or perhaps unlearning, to believe wildly in the fresh crop and siege of miracles that are happening right under my eyes every day. If I fail to see them, if my self-limiting perspective narrows into a myopic … Continue reading →

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All the Marys

Posted on July 25, 2018 by John Biscello

All the merciful Marys gathered at the brisk pool of light and through the silvery meshes of tears recalled the angels to mother the favored arc of  true grail and unflagging love.

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Fever

Posted on July 25, 2018 by John Biscello

I haven’t been sick like this since I was six or maybe nine that deceptively mild hazily pleasant heartbleating ache and motherseek fever that takes you to that tender place of breezy white flags and euphoric yield and there, you, … Continue reading →

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Tectonic

Posted on July 25, 2018 by John Biscello

Where words fail touch registers the seismic heft and molten seize of hands-on earthquakes.

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Cursively Yours

Posted on July 25, 2018 by John Biscello

I would like to get to the place where I am no longer writing poems about you but rather printing them in rabid cursive directly onto your skin with the sharpest most inviolate part of my tongue, tender sketches wordless … Continue reading →

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Consecrate

Posted on July 24, 2018 by John Biscello

I kneel before her and begin to wash her feet slowly in the silver blood of crushed pearls and upon my cheeks can feel the delicate papery drizzle of peony petals which she sheds as if garden to the moon’s … Continue reading →

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Hunger Strike

Posted on July 24, 2018 by John Biscello

She wrote as if webbed viscous bits of her soul got stuck to the words and so you got to feel the raw organic matter of her dreamlife and lush panting inner delicately charred the sort of hunger that cannot … Continue reading →

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Pink Stucco

Posted on July 24, 2018 by John Biscello

I tell her we need three days, alone, uninterrupted, in a pink stucco motel. She giggles. Why pink stucco? I don’t know, pink stucco is what I see. It’s you and me and the motel with the pink stucco exterior … Continue reading →

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Orchids and Algae

Posted on July 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Meet me in that rarest orchid crawlspace, that parting cloister, where we could fuck the fiction out of one another, and leave behind a glissando of puddles in real-time.

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