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.

Can I Strip For You?

Posted on June 5, 2018 by John Biscello

I want to exist for you, even if only as confusion and fiction, she said. Really, I said. No, un-really, she corrected, then caught my nose between her knuckles and gave it a playful toggle.    I didn’t know what … Continue reading →

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Room Service

Posted on June 4, 2018 by John Biscello

Love, in its ripest season and deepest proof, does not steal or seize your breath, but rather brings more oxygen and room in which to breathe.

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Of Dogs & Gods

Posted on June 4, 2018 by John Biscello

I’d like to be the kind of person my soul knows I am.

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Kiss

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

In the resident smolder of lips, a seared prelude, announcing blatant recourse to the sheerest intent.    

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Lull

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes, even the light, in its radiant parry and thrust, needs to be laid down, in order to receive, openly, the starried lull of brokenness.

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Last Thought, Best Thought?

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

You are only as free as your last thought. Think again.

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Pyre

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

How many confessions and scalpels does it take to purge oneself of guilt associated with transgressions, some imaginary, some real, Legion, baited and ingrown, to seal your innocence in a decidely deep vault, containing an inheritance of bones, which take … Continue reading →

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Slowtorch

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

Beneath the cauterized furies, and unspent silences, amounting to greater deficit, there is, and always has been, at heart’s nimbus base, a soft, wistful melancholy, not unlike the adagio threads of rain silvering the opened palms of a small child, … Continue reading →

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In My Solitude

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

It is, for me, as well as other writers of a certain breed, a familiar haunt and barbed echo, that fear of being found out and exposed as a fraud and imposter, some busted metaphor that won’t hold up under … Continue reading →

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Glistening

Posted on June 2, 2018 by John Biscello

It is sudden, this life, a billowing pop-up tent for the quick and the dead. And how true that, its frayed denouements of thread lead you back and back again through that labyrinth, its spool of yarn the ravels of … Continue reading →

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