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.

Tramp

Modeling tatters, some masks cannot conceal truth– the poor man’s Jesus.

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Tissue

After her heart fell to seed for the first time, the young girl wondered– How many tissues throughout mortal history had been used to absorb the world’s weeping, fragile, tenuous nets for dreams that slip through?

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Three Musicians

To birth visual sound, mortals shaped into music– painter’s brush with fame.

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Thomas Wolfe

Locomotive-brained, roar and let of angels blood– Tracks vetting heaven.

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Stranger

I pressed against the sun, slow lance of burning, while the other, at a distance, watches– benign indifference the stranger’s claim on his own life passing  

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Portal

Every portal an incubator for change– Time’s infinite jest.

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Praise

Touch, the inviolable charge inciting rent ecstasy between a bright siege of atoms, you, me, nameless, humming, conduits of praise.

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Pucker

Pucker, how love concentrates itself into the singular purpose of tendering a kiss to breathe Intimacy, unfettered.

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Ravish

Ripe, the carnal skin of an apple’s flame-slipped outer layer; one bite, one tear with hungry nails, intimating the measures of ravish, indebted to touch.

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Bloom

Flowers pale into this storm but do not fade, to cede, in tune, as grievous winds sculpt a fierce bloom, begging a Garden’s fate.

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