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.

Emily

Posted on June 12, 2016 by John Biscello

You say she knew not God because she scratched under a floorboard all winterlong, the marginal tracks of a starved mouse seeking a piece of brittle crust, maybe a crumb.

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The Flame and the Lotus

Posted on June 10, 2016 by John Biscello

(For Sylvia Plath, 1932-1963) I. sylvia in chains and drag: the green-eyed bee-witch, Ariella, poised on her remote blue star, chilled and unblinking succubus to the men she promises to swallow, whole, like air

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Tinder

Posted on June 9, 2016 by John Biscello

In this lighted instance, a storm-watch of gold bearing the heft of silence and time, slowed. Blue shoulders the collapse of heaven, it is the Atlas underlay, the muscle cloud formation. When the painter dies, this tindered vault will inherit … Continue reading →

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The Last Word

Posted on June 8, 2016 by John Biscello

Wednesday, June 15th @ 4pm (mountain time) I will be a guest on the radio program: The Last Word, Conversations with Writers, discussing the craft of fiction, discipline, surrealism, the virtues of the NYC subway system, the radical swing between … Continue reading →

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Flint

Posted on June 8, 2016 by John Biscello

A scissored valentine walked into a hard case. The floor, a silent witness, held its tongue. It was one of those Sundays that was acting like a Tuesday. Scrambled eggs, jazz, and a wet book of matches. This wasn’t going … Continue reading →

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Factory Maiden

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello

Recursively spooling the It-Girl’s Factorymade cool fast fade from the pinwheel galaxy of stars & soupcans– Mmmm mmmm good, for a hot fixed minute during the candyrigged reign of Warhol the Ain’t– Is you is or is you not Aint’s … Continue reading →

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Pandora’s Boxcutter

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello

Against a wall Pandora turns to burn holes in the hopeful gazes & visionclench of every last peeping no-show; succubus to perps & prey, she swallows their hunger & cameras whole.

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The Gospel According to Jazz

Posted on June 7, 2016 by John Biscello

Bird, unfettered, blowing his soul through a horn– breath scoring God.

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Isn’t it Romantic?

Posted on June 5, 2016 by John Biscello

Baby Byron didn’t yet have language, so he twisted and contorted his face into a mask, a distressed aria sounding his discomfort. That it was existential, and not hunger, thirst, tiredness, or physical pain, meant nothing to him. Without language … Continue reading →

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Peter Parker’s Blues

Posted on June 3, 2016 by John Biscello

As a kid I wanted to be you. Swinging, from building to building, across the cityscape, sticking to walls with velcroed hands and feet, no fear of falling, no Icarus complex crippling your confidence in upward mobility.

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