Author Archives: John Biscello

Unknown's avatar

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.

Partitions

Posted on November 14, 2022 by John Biscello

It has been called this mortal longing and we have all hailed there all ached there swearing. Between lisping partitions of rain we seek phantom threads blue gray promising to guide us down unmarked roads to deepening distances. Seeking being … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, photography, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Here There Be Dream Tigers

Posted on November 14, 2022 by John Biscello

Here we are hooded in shadows with tigers green fire eyes lighting up new seasons. Tigers green fire eyes the forests of emeralds burning of bedazzlement and jade bewitching. We enter calmly at our own risk. We heard that one … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Unseen

Posted on November 14, 2022 by John Biscello

We lie here in fields dreaming unseen and fondle ourselves forgetting ourselves. In intermittent flashes elegies come as summons as reminders advertising what it was like to be human whenever that was. What was it like to be human the … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, photography, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Exit Through the Gift Shop

Posted on November 13, 2022 by John Biscello

We’ve heard rumors that God doesn’t know he exists. She exists. It. Whatever the gender or genderless you get the picture. God doesn’t know there is such thing as God that he is this thing we call God this blessed … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, photography, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Labyrinth

Posted on November 13, 2022 by John Biscello

You say no more words because it is something to say, a way to get started on using more words to constellate yourself, to orient your innate trembling. Mapless, we wander. To wander, mapless and wordless, what would that be … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Through the Dreaming

Posted on November 13, 2022 by John Biscello

Born from the long forgotten the golems drift in the company of echoes. Half lit unremembered near to beingness you can hear the golems muttering inaudibly. Their mouths stuffed with wombs dreaming gumming up their enunciation. The words don’t come. … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bone Jig

Posted on November 11, 2022 by John Biscello

My mother’s bones. My mother’s bones resounding in my ears piercing my eardrums. Death rattle of the dusty gourd. Of the earth’s grief calling to us to restore. Calling upon us to become wardens attendants to vibrations crossing passages. To … Continue reading →

Posted in Cinema, photography, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

To No End

Posted on November 11, 2022 by John Biscello

Texts to be read aloud inside your head while no one is listening. This one of the directives we received. We also heard Your ears may start to burn as if a forest fire is burning inside your head a … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

All Fours

Posted on November 10, 2022 by John Biscello

We are out here on all fours panting in the sun the bleary merciless maraschino sun burning us. It has been a long while one of those spells that feels foreverish out here in these fields unseen dreaming of god … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Lasting Born

Posted on November 10, 2022 by John Biscello

Once upon a time is a necessary mirage. Flesh born of lighted word and bones fulfilling myth. Stories are the means to endlessness. They go on and on. We go on and on carried along by stories carrying within them … Continue reading →

Posted in photography, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment