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.

Mother, Daughter

Mother, without your touch, blood-lush access to eternity’s grasp, I am rudderless, and adrift, in a world that shits on innocence. ………………………………….. Daughter, without you to hold, a promise illumined into love’s totem, I am sunless, and moonless, a  stray … Continue reading →

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Wish

Floating syllables, woolen sheafs of memory– Heaven’s lent ear, toned.

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Kingdom

In childhood’s kingdom, grace-slicked glee and romp– winter moon watching.

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Lullaby

Hear the bleached creaking, of chafed slats upon silence– Winter’s lullaby.

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Snowflakes

Dark holy silence, the fattest snowflakes are popes– no pulpit required.

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William Faulkner

Moon turning blood-red, tides roiling, writer signs crosses to stand Time’s test, sound and fury bridled through carnal lightning and soil of pen.

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Owl

White owl, I sometimes wonder if you are an ancient, forgotten breed of swan plumped up on moonlight and mice, elegant dancer’s neck morphed into a tufty bulb, purveying the hidden wisdom of dark woods and underworld flights sourced to … Continue reading →

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Kissing

She told me, and I quote: “As a pagan-gnostic-pop-mystic, my religion is kissing– the ground, stones, twigs, children’s nubby fingers, hems of clothing, mouths.” To prove her word devout, she kissed me on the lips, then deeper, and I received … Continue reading →

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Tongue

Celibacy upon the vulvic tongue, that faun purveyor of irreverent pink and solvent hymns, is a joyless sin against primordial yearnings, the Earth composes itself in mineral rhymes and licentious heavings, and so the tongue, caked in sensuous resin, divines … Continue reading →

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Drizzle

Listen raptly to the furls of drizzle pecking upon thin glass, and you will come to know how close dreams are to trespassing rare intimacy upon closed worlds and distances.

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