Author Archives: John Biscello

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.

Some Kind of Summer

Posted on August 9, 2016 by John Biscello

J.B., I have to kill someone by the end of summer. Joe Ninj stated this casually, as if it were a school assignment or project with a deadline. Five minutes earlier we had been integrated into our … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged Brooklyn, coming of age, John Biscello, Literary, Prose, story, teenage, violence | Leave a comment

Glow

Posted on August 8, 2016 by John Biscello

The coke parties were my favorite. It was when everyone was happiest. Everyone meant my father, my mother, and their friends, Teddy and Debby. Occasionally, Debby’s brother, Wayne, was part of everyone. My mother would say—Teddy and Debby are coming … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose | Tagged Brooklyn, childhood, cocaine, drugs, John Biscello, Literary, Prose, story | Leave a comment

Bedsores

Posted on July 31, 2016 by John Biscello

In the permanent flophouse Love reigns supreme— A tried and torn migrant ready to drop from chronic fatigue.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged flophouse, John Biscello, Literary, love, Poetry, sex | Leave a comment

Dirty Dancing in the Dark

Posted on July 29, 2016 by John Biscello

Brooklyn, the Walker Theater, 1987. I am twelve and precariously balancing on the shoulders of Fat Brian. Come on, you’re not getting any lighter, Fat Brian shouts. I reach up and lock my fingers around the … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose | Tagged Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, Cinema, dirty dancing, jennifer grey, John Biscello, Literary, movie, patrick swayze, Prose, walker theater | 2 Comments

Meaning of the Mob

Posted on July 28, 2016 by John Biscello

The Meaning of the Mob. I say, the Mob, meaning the Definitely Uncertain, Fixed—a liberal form of physics— or the clotted swarm wallforming brick by brick, a mosaic pattern. Pick a number, any number, it’s a given. A given what, … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry | Tagged Brooklyn, John Biscello, Literary, mob, Poetry, Spoken Word, street corner | Leave a comment

Haunt

Posted on July 26, 2016 by John Biscello

Fear, how specters arrive on stilts, in the shadow of their presence, you, diminished, crawl toward s solitary haunt.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Harbor

Posted on July 26, 2016 by John Biscello

I, on the verge of speaking, when the old woman laid her finger on my lips, and said— Give, and expect nothing in return, and even less than nothing. It is your only chance of getting off this island. Then, … Continue reading →

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Torch Song

Posted on July 7, 2016 by John Biscello

The aureate secrets of silence, stuff stars are made from, and us, cocooned in gauzy slumbers, wink and blink and nod till well-scored we become cinders in a torch song, long-since faded.

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged impressionism, John Biscello, Literary, night, Poetry, Starry Night, Stars, Van Gogh | Leave a comment

Frame-Up

Posted on July 6, 2016 by John Biscello

(Written in response to Josef Sudek’s “Winter at the Window of my Atelier”) Winter frame-up of god’s run-on fingerprints, evidence of weary sorrow, mounting, unfinished.

Posted in Artwork, Poetry | Tagged God, John Biscello, josef sudek, Literary, Poetry, prague, window, Winter | Leave a comment

Sunday’s Children

Posted on July 5, 2016 by John Biscello

(Written in response to Joe Sorren’s “While the Trucks on the Highway all Howl”) While the trucks on the highway all howl, beneath a milk-bottle sky, Sunday’s children, curious and bulb-headed, lay vigorous claim to Paradise. Non-profit architects, they sit … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged Artwork, beach, children, Joe Sorren, John Biscello, Literary, paradise, Poetry, sand-castles, sunday, trucks | Leave a comment