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.

Torch Song

Nature does not express opinions, she asserts herself with whatever force is necessary to explode the billion screaming hearts tendered from her wellsprung artistry. Nature does not engage in philosophy or debates, she, unbridled, the husbandless pagan, teems and throbs … Continue reading →

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Blossoms

There is no secret, no magic this or that, or know-how manual to guide the process to betterment, it is, I believe, simply a matter of paying attention, to people, flowers, sand, stones, dolls, puddles, dreams, souls, first and foremost … Continue reading →

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I See Myself

I always saw the humanity behind his thick-lidded eyes, the small child, begging for a banquet of golden crumbs to appease the motherache churning in his heart and stomach. A thousand lions pitted against a studded chainsmoking beergutted gladiator, I … Continue reading →

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I Listen

Dawn. The sea breeze, salt-fringed, rolls in through the opened glass doors, its damp fingers sifting and touching upon the cravings, rent and folds of our shared bare skin, It’s like home, you say, and this makes me dig my … Continue reading →

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Set Course

The love I don’t get to live with her, I am going to have to live and attend, sublimely, through fiction, there are only so many lives to choose from, to assume gracefully, so many courses upon which the sun … Continue reading →

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Requite

Real lovers, brave ones, requite to the nth degree, nestled snugly in a hollow shaped to fit their bodies, they assume joint custody of Beauty as they fully twine and engage.

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Kin

There are chambers inside myself I have yet to discover or visit, for example, that one room rumored to contain a monk in tattered robes hunched over a yellow table benignly autistic in his relations to text and verses which … Continue reading →

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Gloam

Fretted, to beckon gloam, and slant felt shadows, I cannot hold what was never mine to grasp.

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Mercury

I have never been a fan of strength in numbers, but rather, love, counted upon to split edges, to chasten the drift and siege of molten core.  

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Voracity

She, baring teeth lodged in the jaws of dreamlife, grazes on symmetry and swaths of fire, this diet, recommended in due measures for dreamers only, trades in the manna of satisfaction for whole-bellied hunger, a voracious reckon and spiritual art … Continue reading →

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