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.

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Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

I am guilty of having poured too many words on top, too many phrases turned to silver coins massaged into the gaping eternity of palms, I have done my best to imitate the rain, and have failed, but how fucking … Continue reading →

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Brink

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

Her hips, bladed just so, moved sharply in sync to the slothful slake of honey, slowpoured to christen the edge and brink of longing. Lazy Sundays between her thighs were my favorite holidays away from me in the nearest heaven … Continue reading →

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Torn

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

All the pearly angels, torn, and wept, like so much confetti in a storm, papering a small world, where heaven closed off to rapt, and cherish got hopelessly lost.

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Shrift

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

The soft bop and shrift of dreams, how they rake and tumble, colored Braille for a blind vagrant, stunned.

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Jackson Pollock

Posted on May 7, 2018 by John Biscello

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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Tryst

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

The last time I fornicated with an angel my porchlights blew and we became tranluscent sheets of merger rising above a glassy pool of chartreuse reflecting in cursive the lighted gist of our holy remains. God, I’m open to another … Continue reading →

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Air

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Cherish, the strayest fibers thinning mouth to prayer, airing lips this side of kiss.

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Wordplay

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Savor, how words, transgressing grammar, mate in the middle of a sentence and melt, when no one is looking.

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Cinch

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Where you are not, I have found just cause for form, blanks folded and tucked, to cinch gapes and frayed cords.

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Sweetheart

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

At the heart of the matter, this, become your own valentine, again and again, and sculpt a blessedly illicit affair, in perpetual fount and bask.

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