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.

After Party

Posted on May 2, 2016 by John Biscello

She, Lazarus, back from the dead, with a musical vengeance— A beat, Christ, please, she asks of her martyred D.J., half-light, half-man, and out climbs her voice, grinding through rubble, a dark velvet toy wound up for centuries, released, on … Continue reading →

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Fete

Posted on May 2, 2016 by John Biscello

At the window, creamed in pale light and amber, a gauzy feting of an interior life, as if solitude, doubly engaged, rears company from silence.

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Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

Anne Sexton: tall and lovely and dead, and I, turning the knob, want to get in and fuck her, but cannot, because she is dead. So really, I wanted to, past tense.                                                             The point being: how I wanted to … Continue reading →

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Flaubert in Brooklyn

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

Madame Bovary bawling on a street corner– I’d throw her a bang.

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Ophelia’s Blues

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

  Her sad, sea-green dress, an epitaph, rippling quietly, as if in a dream. The small history of a fresh wraith, white fingers forever separating the bones from the silt.

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Feral

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

At risk of possession by fire, how, in the ripe grip of new language, we grow feral along a trackless rim, greening desire.

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Pinch

Posted on May 1, 2016 by John Biscello

To hell, lovingly, with gravity as it claims one’s pulse and vitals; a precipitous plunge into faith at the far end of a diminishing tunnel pinched by light.

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Immigration Laws

Posted on April 30, 2016 by John Biscello

We are immigrants in our own skin, flash-fire refugees who get by with falsified papers, fake IDs, and forged signatures. If caught and found guilty of a trespass or transgression, we pardon ourselves in our native tongues, language a placeholder … Continue reading →

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Aperture

Posted on April 30, 2016 by John Biscello

Fade, how the light, contracting Amnesia, tenderly submits by subtly engaging a trick lens.

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Annul

Posted on April 29, 2016 by John Biscello

Forgiveness, gravity’s claim on cells duly annulled.

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