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.

Cinemate

Tinder, how tongues snake flames to debut summer’s flick– Burn Slow While Kissing.

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Flagrant

Prayer’s body to rent, exact in flagrant cherish– flesh struck to match, ssssssss.

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Currency

Language, a living currency and greening force, gospel and amorphic in its leanings toward the freest and most daring aspects of your imagination, well beyond margins, syntax, and staid forms.

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Fierce and Daisy

Among greengolden pastures, the fierce grew. Its plastic vampire teeth tore into the jugulars of bluebells, its molten leavetaking gave the earth scars and heartburn, and left the fresh grass in tears. The roots, understanding the nature of siege, its … Continue reading →

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Marvel

As a child, the thinnest greenest wisps of air held tiny totemic figures of me, carved from sheer terror, aloft, and I pretended, o how I pretended to be the biggest strongest bravest boldest of them all, a clown-saint crossing … Continue reading →

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Margin

Beyond these margins, lies something that is yours, yes, an intimate claim.

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Riddle

Did I enter her, or was I the door walked through? Savor the riddle.

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Whet

It’s funny how lust secretes its stories through text whetting metaphors.

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Initiate

It was only when her thighs caught fire that he began to understand the laws of arson as practiced by goddesses imitating sirens.

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Human’s Lib

Soul’s cellular range, captivity, fuck that claim! Raise your own damned self.

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