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.

Now Showing

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

In the shadow-carved cinema of memory, its mortuary and altars, the gauzy feting of ghosts, alluring you with the promise of exits and second lives. Follow our unbearably light drift, they montone in surround-sound stereo, we will provide you the … Continue reading →

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What We Carry

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

Memories as ghosts of cinema, seeking host-bodies to inhabit, equal measures possession and vacancy, they are the ghosts of ghosts, pulsing in chords of reptition and bottomless hunger to freight.

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Searchlight

Posted on September 8, 2026 by John Biscello

You are being crafted and curated right now, as you speak. Scraps of filmreel flickering and bringing to life shadows of a life lived, echoes of fiction bygone. Memory as the green-screen slate upon which cinema is perpetrated. Behind the … Continue reading →

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Foreplay

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

i liked her best wrapped in gloaming and told her so she smiled and said i needed better metaphors or lesser ones if i hoped to undress her where silence mattered most.

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Say What

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Every sentence alleges an ending, or feigns the solace of completion, yet the wholly unsaid caved under the tongues of lovers becomes sacral content, running on and on to no known climax, only hunger lingually revised.

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Room for Two or More

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Touch as the residing magnetic compass and Braille for lovers in a dark eyeless room, or, the scale value of myopic intimacy through fucks graciously given.

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Lush Life

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Conundrum to my common ache and feted fevers, place me under your tongue’s secrets for safekeeping, and the cherished prospect of going down like hard candy in a throat closing to darken the rent of rapture from lush.

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Domain

Posted on September 7, 2026 by John Biscello

Her body, a puzzling slate and feral dominion suspended erringly between there and not, and I, tonal witness to the intimacy of her absence, function by rounded turns at a loss for words– Silence, the lasting grammar of ruins and … Continue reading →

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Unsaid

Posted on September 6, 2026 by John Biscello

Waxing blankly, to soothe and mollify, her hand (nails polished electric blue) gagged my mouth (O-shaped in ache) with a hint of phrase, rouge to the touch, and blatantly sheer in its umentionables.

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Mystique

Posted on September 6, 2026 by John Biscello

There’s something blankly paranthetical about the ghosts of memory which become us in breaths taken to host and devour.

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