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.

Golem

Posted on July 20, 2017 by John Biscello

Excerpt from Nocturne Variations: I think, the bottom line, Piers, is that one’s protector is or can become one’s destroyer. Angels are monsters in wait, same as monsters are angels awaiting transformative context. The two are one and to divide … Continue reading →

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What Remains?

Posted on July 18, 2017 by John Biscello

If I were to go tomorrow, and by go I mean no more spells of wonder, or lines leveling a manic fate, no more ancient fireflies like safety pins fastening us to thin, thin dreams, all our hollow and chaste … Continue reading →

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Riversong

Posted on July 16, 2017 by John Biscello

Show us where it is you’re dying, the silent ebb and roaring tides of dark, expose to us, with a scalpel’s exactitude, the finite lineage of your deepest wounds and locks, and we promise that the light’s searing of naked … Continue reading →

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Thursday’s Child

Posted on July 15, 2017 by John Biscello

Wrapped snugly in a blanket of godlight, Thursday’s child indwells the symmetry of tigers burning bright to leave tracks on empty.  

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Arc

Posted on July 10, 2017 by John Biscello

Starstruck, and wrestling within mortal coils, God’s lucid fame overshadows the cast of our solitary arc.

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Proof

Posted on July 9, 2017 by John Biscello

With the grave mortal nearness that only distance can bring, we enter the bruised, secret heart of our childhood, a stalker’s negative proof, slow-burned to exposure and fade.

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Torch

Posted on July 9, 2017 by John Biscello

How a writer, cave-timing dark and solitude, annoints an ember by crafting the small hours into a flagrant torch.

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Six

Posted on July 9, 2017 by John Biscello

   I was six when I found out I’d never become a super hero.    We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother and father. My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a wild, bloodshot, not-there look … Continue reading →

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Scripture

Posted on July 9, 2017 by John Biscello

To be swallowed, wordless, as the worst you always feared turns lighted proof into lasting scripture.

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Flint

Posted on July 7, 2017 by John Biscello

   I also saw Anya on that trip, though our meeting was unplanned. I was on the subway platform waiting for the train when I spotted a thin girl in torn jeans and a bright green tank-top walking in my … Continue reading →

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