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.

In Our Solitude

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

In the birthing solitude of invention, memories night-bloom as cosplay and eulogy in the flickering séance of cinema, keeping strange limitless company to a rounded minimum.

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Equatorial

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

Find me, she urged, in a bird-broken sky, in mottled swills of ink darkening my want— Find me, wherever I am not, the explicit spreading of distance to tease and captivate Memory’s cosplay in a subtextual plot.

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Archive

Posted on May 19, 2026 by John Biscello

Memory, eulogies birthed in reverse, séance syncing soundly the cinema of ghosts with real-time revivals rounding to fade.

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Now Playing

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the bluest breath of want we are ghosts haunting our own lives possessed by the mutable shadows of cinema.

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Freight Blues

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the bluest breath of want, pooling to unseemly levels, making beggars of desire’s taste for excess, we run on and on, riveted to freight and laboring conundrum.

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Flicker

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the longaching cinema of memory, the gauzy calling and want of ghosts, exponentially the veiled sum of fading and pulse.

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As if Ghosts

Posted on May 16, 2026 by John Biscello

She, as in ghosts, as in white-hot incubi with a seductive glassy not there stare, it bewitches and allures, bears melancholy freighted with scraped knees and mirror shards. There is a lucid unblinking poise, calculated reserve composed of crystal and … Continue reading →

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Haunt

Posted on May 16, 2026 by John Biscello

She, as in ghosts, the seductive glassy not-there stare making you long for what has passed, or is passing— Séance, persuasive in its call and touch, a cheat code flirting with disaster, or remnants haunting thereafter.

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Loom

Posted on May 15, 2026 by John Biscello

In the manic solitude of invention and bloom, I shutter to think, therefore I scam, hustling room for one’s own company to keep you, casting, in fuckable thrall.

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Rivet

Posted on May 14, 2026 by John Biscello

Here, papering over hovel origins of wounds and silence with words riveting on and on and on, dirty frayed bandages panting staccato and weary in the wind, yet never losing voice, nor the canopied capacity for mime in the manic … Continue reading →

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