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.

Wordburn

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Between the call of bodies, testing the ream of vocabulary’s limits, words exact their talent for slow burn, and quicken to replenish.

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Slant

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

There are no promissory notes in life, there are fugitive scraps upon which we can opt to scribble our heart’s mind, and most tender sublime, tatters registered to light’s lilting slant, granting us grace from unexpected angles.

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All Those Who Enter

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

The young boy asked me, What is it exactly that grows in the cavehunger depths and wilds of the heart? No one knows, dear boy, it is the most hidden and magnificent of countries, all I can say is that … Continue reading →

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How the Heart Rains

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

My heart, as a fool forever in love with love’s mercurial climate, does not beg for static coverage, or seasons to stop voicing their natural patterns, yet my heart, childlike in its prehistory, sometimes strives to alchemize the weather, to … Continue reading →

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Fireproof

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Learn to stand still, inviolably still, in the vortex of fire, and bear true witness; every bloom holds within its tenor the epitaph of it ashes, every loss tenders the wick for epiphany, learn to remain softly yet firmly still … Continue reading →

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Cavespeak

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes it is like surfing the gloam and reaching down to draw softly rounded syllables from curdles of gray in order to raise the heart’s homesick climes from its deepest and most hidden caves.

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Ghosting

Posted on June 15, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale) I closed my notebook and sat motionless at my desk for a long while, feeling flat and infirm. Then, not able to put it off any longer, it was time to disengage my … Continue reading →

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Plaything

Posted on June 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Fictionalize me, martyr me to your crosses and lost causes, give me a form by which my double can register touch, and seeds of desire, twitching and sputtering in the blue flames of fabulous opera, make me the husky baritone … Continue reading →

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Mouth

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

That mouth, I remember, an evocative nursery of lost things, a fierce swallower of galactic bulbs and starburned roots, it took in so much, didn’t it? announcing to the belly’s slowchurning greenfire, to the lips bluequiver icegarden riot, I am … Continue reading →

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Plume

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

Your specific brood, and row of white noise, coupled with blood running its own goverment like a harem spooning an undertow, it is there, I loiter, taking notes through the ribbed plume of my softest tongue.

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