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.

At the Beckoning Edge

Sometimes, you’ve got to stand at the liminal edge, equal parts trespass and yield, your entire life a fragile ceremony of plunge and arc, respiring within spells of wonder.

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From Shards, a Cathedral

From the absolute hovel of unlettered ruins, a crabby shard, reflecting a tasseled badge of moonlight— this, the modest origins to ceremony and marvel, as she built an outlaw cathedral of self, in which she dwelled and worshipped, vagrantly hospitable … Continue reading

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Anthemic

Comfort is a privilege, yet kindness and dignity, charity and compassion, are spirit-given rights and blessings, the seeded marrow and initiative of our soul’s turnings toward unequivocal light.

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Arson & Grace

Collection of plays forthcoming from CSF Publishing. Arson & Grace Think of this collection as a black-market passport to a realm of lucid dreams and savage jest. Or as the splintered signpost to a crossroads where pop culture, mythology and … Continue reading

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Brave New World

We are the keepers of the sacred fire, the shapeshifters and purveyors of starstuff undivided, We, tending to flocks of light and clouds, understand that, come rain or come shine, the founting marvels from God’s lips, and breadth, are a … Continue reading

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Jean Rhys

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 … Continue reading

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Jackson Pollock

Out of silence, and lidded smolder, arose a localized storm. You could say it was a balletic squall forecasting its own tyrant reign and fall, a fate designed to galvanize and then blackout not so gently into that goodnight exit … Continue reading

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Losing my Religion

Religion of rain, I prayed to get wet, and then entered her slowly.

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Hurry Slowly

“Hurry Slowly”was the ticktock mantraof the photographer,Josef Sudek, who praisedand made lasting secret loveto his Muse and ghost-veiledbride, Prague,vowing his fugitive eyeto herand her alone. Photo by Josef Sudek

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Smoke

Mortal ponderance– Where did the time go this time? Smoke favors silence. Photo by Josef Sudek

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