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.

She

Posted on May 18, 2018 by John Biscello

She, the wrinkled pool of lusty glaze and somatic charge, of aural bouquets teasing cherry-bled sound and fragrance from whetted lips, fasting to shape a comely beckon, moon-fed by dark.

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Reckon

Posted on May 17, 2018 by John Biscello

You, true to your own scythe, perpetrate with fierce love, small necessary deaths, you, whispering sweet winged words of encouragement to your reaper, Hurry now, slowly, and bless my broken softly, bless every last ghost through the numinous host of … Continue reading →

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Intent

Posted on May 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Silence, the lighted bidding to know my own heart, to take a chance on every last fretted me I neglected to face, or boldly mention, to sow gaping closure with intent.  

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Outlet

Posted on May 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Kiss my shame, she said, the moistened outlet to my sealed-in history, run your tongue, but gentle now, gentle, over my heart-shaped booboo, make it sing, as if the moon, a secret maestro, was drawing the most beautiful notes from … Continue reading →

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Communion

Posted on May 14, 2018 by John Biscello

She knows who she is, the one who placed a piece of the moon under my tongue when I wasn’t looking, now, when I speak of night, light follows, to gild my bated communion.

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Sate

Posted on May 14, 2018 by John Biscello

It was there, right there, between the sated tensions of sensual crumple and pulp, that the softest paring left desire’s wending veins exposed.

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Veil

Posted on May 14, 2018 by John Biscello

So this is the mouth which has given lather and freight to scabbed pearls, this, the passage, where screaming daisies have weeded out spells of violence to sunder Beauty’s veil.  

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Mend

Posted on May 14, 2018 by John Biscello

To possess, in eyes leveling a raised smolder, here, there are no rules or fences, only a blatant running of stitches to the sun’s sheerest mend.

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In Bated Response to Oxygen for A Sort of Love Song

Posted on May 13, 2018 by John Biscello

How wonderful it is to have your breath, seized and arrested, to have your barest bloom subjected to the solvency of cherish.

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Oxygen for a Sort of Love Song

Posted on May 13, 2018 by John Biscello

Love, as a true bloom and pulsing grist, and not just mutiny, opiate in its seize and grip, should, at day’s end, allow you to breathe easier, lungs rooming with heart, space, carved out of ceaseless flow, respiring toward growth, … Continue reading →

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