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.

Children of the Moon

Posted on November 10, 2022 by John Biscello

We the motherless fatherless children of the moon wake up dreamless weeping. This is why we seek the all dreaming. The all dreaming is more feeling than place. Sometimes not always but sometimes we are chased by the fates. The … Continue reading →

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Keeper of Bones

Posted on November 3, 2022 by John Biscello

Now again I have become my mother’s keeper. Once I saw her sitting out in the yard staring out blankly and when I asked her what she was doing she said she was taking care of the world. She said … Continue reading →

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Shadow Work

Posted on November 3, 2022 by John Biscello

When the girl was young she would practice spells, she would recite things she made up, verses of nonsense and babble born from the foam that would slather the edges of her mouth when imagining words, all this done to … Continue reading →

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Cherry

Posted on November 1, 2022 by John Biscello

Claudia made herself into Cherry and went to the strip club just because. Green eye shadow. Black eyeliner. Red lipstick. A face painted to imitate the likeness of another face, a wanting face, a grave tablature, a motherland face veiling … Continue reading →

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Mothlight

Posted on October 31, 2022 by John Biscello

It happens like that. Slow baked, sudden bubbling, no cauldron, face up in the vortex. You become days of mourning. A pall, a viscous grayish veil. You can no longer see clearly or purely. Vision pales, angel eyes gone. You … Continue reading →

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Scratch

Posted on October 31, 2022 by John Biscello

Once upon a time before people were monsters. When people didn’t eat each other. Out here we’ve got to be careful. I defected. I became fugitive singular. I defected from plural, from we. I defected so as to claim I … Continue reading →

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Fall

Posted on October 24, 2022 by John Biscello

In autumn’s brisk grief, leaves flashing briefest raptures to seed elegies.

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Vagrant

Posted on October 23, 2022 by John Biscello

Near to the bone warming and wildly grazing in solitude not lonely but rather alone in the company of words stories voices enabling vagrancy within most cherished intimacies rooting me home.

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Pasture

Posted on October 23, 2022 by John Biscello

Near to the bone wildly grazing in solitude not lonely but rather alone in the company of words stories voices enabling my vagrancy in rooting me home.

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Dipper

Posted on October 23, 2022 by John Biscello

Solitude warming in the company of words– Shorthand for spooning.

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