Author Archives: John Biscello

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.

Our Lady of Dust

Posted on August 8, 2022 by John Biscello

They taught us dust. Those were our lessons. We sang dust. Sermons in dust. We ate dust. Sometimes the dust we ate was inseminated with sunlight that insisted upon the rotting wood of the windowsill, the worm-eaten wood. That sill … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged lessons, our lady of dust, Prose, school, the adventures of calamity jane, visions | Leave a comment

Girl on a Bike

Posted on August 5, 2022 by John Biscello

I bike through the swirling dust. The dust pinches my skin. The dust is cinematic. It seems, nowadays, everything is cinematic. Novels, TV, reality, cinema … dust. We have become cinemanesthasized. We are in a trance. How long will … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged apocalypse, Cinema, dust, fragment, girl on a bike, Prose, riding, trance | Leave a comment

Cherry’s Eyes

Posted on August 5, 2022 by John Biscello

Cherry went to the strip club just because. Just because she had heard things about strip clubs. Just because the strip club belonged to fathomless caves and Cherry was motivated to spelunk. Cherry, new-old upon this earth, would … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged cherry, fragment, men and women, new old eyes, Prose, splintered symmetry, strip club, vision | Leave a comment

Balloon and Jukebox

Posted on August 4, 2022 by John Biscello

She would name the balloon Clarice. She always thought she should have been named Clarice. Perhaps in another life. Clarice was yellow. She decided that Clarice should go on a journey. She would open the window and let her out. … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged balloon, childhood, fragment, jukebox, letting go, loss, magic, nostalgia, Prose | Leave a comment

As Below, So Above

Posted on August 3, 2022 by John Biscello

She came to me when I was a child. When I was two. An angel with massive wings which, when extended, generated a musical whoosh and siege of air that felt like a hurricane to my small world. My small … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged 2066, angel, Desire, longing, music, poem, Prose, talisman, tongue | Leave a comment

Blue Jukebox

Posted on August 2, 2022 by John Biscello

She passed through the beads dangling in the doorway. Echoes of beads rattling, like glassy cricket bones crunched, her moving forward, stopping at the counter, men’s heads turning, as if on rubbery swivels, none say a word, wordless the men … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged cantina, dreams, fragment, halluncinations, jukebox, melancholy, music, Prose, sadness | Leave a comment

Fireflies

Posted on July 24, 2022 by John Biscello

All these stories– Fireflies in a garden, on a moonless night.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged dark, fireflies, Light, moon, poem, Poetry, stories | Leave a comment

Upon Closer Examination

Posted on July 23, 2022 by John Biscello

There is a slow burn to holy. The headwaters of holy froth and burble and fizz and speak scandalously in serpent’s alabaster tongues. Do not mistake symbols for metaphors. Do not mistake doors for exits. Your dreams need not possess … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged angels, lore, metaphor, myth, palms, Prose, soul play | Leave a comment

House of Mystery

Posted on July 23, 2022 by John Biscello

In the house of mystery, dreamers enter the fold. It is a world of myriads. Of what-ifs. Undulating layers. In the house of mystery, expect no answers. None are forthcoming. In the house of mystery, dreamers will experience cataclysmic inversions. … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged fables, forests, house of mystery, labyrinth, mirrorless, Prose, revelations | Leave a comment

Best Ghost and Audio

Posted on July 22, 2022 by John Biscello

I have to be careful. This business of old tapes, new tapes. There is responsibility involved. Stewardship. Care. Consideration. You cannot be a headless D.J. If you cut off the D.J.’s head and expect him to be able to communicate … Continue reading →

Posted in Prose | Tagged Audio, fragment, ghosts, music, Prose, silence, tapes | Leave a comment