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.

Burn

The out of womb blues, torch song on code red alert– Slow burning for home.

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Baby Romantics

Baby Byron didn’t yet have language, so he twisted and contorted his face into a mask, a distressed aria sounding his discomfort. That it was existential, and not hunger, thirst, tiredness, or physical pain, meant nothing to him. Without language … Continue reading →

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Dive

Writer’s deep sea task, how to breathe underwater– Air of faith, no mask.

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Cherish

Blossom, hue of vetted contradiction, between cherish and fade– Hours, like thorns, slow burn to chasten.

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Many Ghosts

Many people in my life have been consumed by fiction. Fiction is a monster. Fiction is a glutton. Like ego, like an insatiable wrath, it never gets enough, is never satisfied. Fiction has consumed and absorbed many people in my … Continue reading →

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Josef Sudek

It was his mantra– Hurry slowly, syllables resigned to vigil.

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Yoko Ono

Woman, vimming grace, there is no need to explain– Your fire, your fate.

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Perish

Man’s crisis of faith, bailing, fiercely, flames and dearth– How to birth perish.

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Musing

Birdless solitude, Winter’s song, slow, deep, solemn– Musing upon spring.

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Virginia Woolf

Through a glass, darkly, splitting of selves by prism– Wide berth for one’s I.

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